


Bite Down

by TruebornAlpha



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Car Sex, Domestic Fluff, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Gangbang, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Mutual Pining, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Self-Hatred, Sex, Smut, Street Racing, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, broken boys in love, past abusive relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9470606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: Shiro could never escape his demons. Haunted by his past and the trauma that never let him go, he found escape in the arms of a daredevil with a death wish. Keith was a mistake Shiro could never stop making, even if it destroyed them both.Sometimes, love just isn’t enough.





	1. Chapter 1

The smell of exhaust was heavy in the air and Shiro breathed it all in like he could drown in it. It was hard to deny it, he’d missed this. There was an electricity in the air, the crowd amped up with anticipation and adrenaline among who knew what else. They were like a living thing, barely contained and spilling out into the street. They laughed and shouted, sharp noises punctuated by smashing glass and excited shrieks, feeding on their own energy as they pushed closer. Even Shiro was buzzing, a faint and welcome hum in the back of his head courtesy of a nearly empty flask. Just enough to relax him and make it easier to leave his apartment. It had been a while since he’d actually enjoyed the experience.

The therapist at the veteran’s hospital had told him that he should get a hobby. It had been the last time he’d bothered to go to his appointments. Knitting or yoga wasn’t going to help, he was tired of pretending that it would. She’d said that the pain was all in his mind, but she wasn’t the one who woke up every night screaming as the ghost of nerves that weren’t there anymore burned with agony, reaching out with a hand that was nothing but metal and wires. It had been years since Shiro had been able to sleep. Most days, he could barely leave the house.

But there was something about being here in the street with the crowd jostling around him that made his pulse beat just that much harder and a bitter smile curl around his lips. He’d missed this feeling.

“Next race in one minute, clear the track!” Some girl in tiny shorts yelled into a megaphone and the crowd rumbled, pushing back to the sides of the street to give the racers room. There were no safety barriers in an illegal street race and no one wanted to be the first casualty of the night.

That’s what the drivers were for.

They might have denied it, but there was an edge of bloodthirstiness that Shiro could feel in the crowd. They wanted fast cars and ugly crashes, demanding entertainment from drivers who seemed like they were purposely flaunting their mortality.

With a line up like this, they were guaranteed a show.

The rumble of an engine was as good as a handshake, and after a few weeks, Shiro recognized this one like it had called out to him. A sleek, polished hovercraft pulled up to the starting line. Red with black and white accents, classic and understated, and all too tame compared to the monster under its hood. The driver called himself Red, not the most original name, he shared it with about five other schmoes in the line up, but none of them drove like him. None of them even came close.

A daredevil with a death wish was a dime a dozen, but Red flew like he wanted to prove the impossible wrong. Shiro thought about that too much. It was dangerous. His mind had a way of going to places he didn’t want to follow.

Red’s competitors pulled up beside him, more suped up monsters, bloated with illegal mods. Sometimes Shiro remembered their names. Sometimes he couldn’t even remember to stay on the sidewalk. It didn’t matter. The heat from their engines was close enough to spill over his shoes, he tasted sweat on his skin, the bitter acrid burn of gasoline so thick he could taste it, and it felt like he was floating. He kept a hand on the inside of his leather jacket, fingering across the jagged cotton of a hidden symbol, and the feel of it drowned out everything else, even as the crowd roared and Tiny Shorts got in front of the cars, slipping off her top to wave like a checkered flag.

This would be a multi-story race around the city, the route more of a suggestion than a requirement, and hijacked billboards flashed it on screens that normally yelled pricey advertisements. The floating signs were all around the block. Sometimes Shiro remembered to watch for them. They were always the first to be shot down if the police felt like doing their jobs.

He laughed out loud at that, but no one in the crowd seemed to care. The countdown had started, and Tiny Shorts was rolling her hips to each second.

Three.

Two.

_One._

The crowd went wild.

Down Mainstreet, then through Jackson. Red took an early lead, dragging his hovercraft over parked cars, metal screeching until his closest opponent rammed into him with enough force to change his direction in a flash of sparks. Red moved with skill, taking a hard left and tilting his craft on its side so he could race between the walls of an alley, and the audience ate it up. Shiro screamed with them.

He could see himself behind the wheel of that beast, heart strained and beating to his machines purr. Smooth metal by his thighs. Leathers beneath his seat. His hands tight around a steering wheel, the sky blurring past, massive and indomitable, never kind but maybe, maybe forgiving.

For a moment, Shiro felt like he was flying again.

He closed his eyes to savor the feeling, imagining the gravity pulling on his body and the way his stomach would lurch as they pulled unnecessarily loops and rolls during training. They always earned themselves a lecture from their commanding officers, but it was worth it for the moment of freedom, pushing the very boundaries of the atmosphere and so close to the stars that Shiro felt like he could touch them.  

His arm throbbed with a phantom ache and Shiro jerked, falling into the crowd. Someone shoved at him, and again until he regained enough of his coordination to stand. Bile lingered in the back of his throat.

That was too long ago. He lost himself in the thrill of the race instead, it was a safer place to hide than his memories. The racers sideswiped each other, one hoverbike spinning out and slamming into a traffic pole hard enough to send it crashing to the ground. Sparks flew as people rushed to help pull the driver out of the wreck, but the race never slowed. It was the risk they were all willing to take and Shiro couldn’t tear his eyes away from them.

They screamed down the street, blasting their thrusters to gain altitude and race along the side of buildings. Red was in the lead, pushing his machine to its limits and getting close enough to the edge of the billboards that the paint scrapped from the side of his hoverbike. There was barely any room to maneuver and one mistake would spell disaster, but he flew with precision that left the crowd breathless. When he finally clipped the edge of a building on the last turn and spun out control, everyone gasped. He crossed the finish line, metal scraping along the asphalt and leaving deep grooves in the road before smashing into an embankment. Shiro was running before he even realized he’d started moving.

Stone and metal crumbled and bent, spilling down the hood of his hoverbike. Thick smoke pillars wafted out from under dented metal, and Shiro’s last clear thought was that it was a terrible parking space. Then he was ripping open the driver’s safety harness, the rest of the audience pressing against him, eager to be the first to see tragedy. But when Shiro reached for him, Red reached back.

The racer emerged from his wreckage, sweaty bangs plastered to his head, his cheeks flushed with color and eyes feverish bright. 

“Don’t need your help, hero,” he growled, elbowing his way past Shiro on unsteady legs, but he was smiling, looking out towards the finish line instead of his adoring public. His victory was replayed on larger than life screens, and when he raised a hand, the crowd cheered. They wanted Red as much as they wanted to see him torn apart, and were willing to risk his caustic ire for a chance to take as much as they could.

The swarm gained momentum, dragging Shiro in, and he let it, embarrassed and annoyed but numb enough not to care. Sirens were blaring, announcing the next race, and Shiro tilted his head back, downing what was left of his flask, and he didn’t care. The sound of screeching tires and crumpling steel echoed through his head, but he refused to not care at all.

Just like every other night he’d been there and he almost felt alive.

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro didn’t go home immediately. Shiro couldn’t find home. The memories of the last race were still ringing in his ears, the sound of sirens two blocks away. Fire trucks and ambulances after and the police who were never fast enough. Shiro wasn’t sure how he got away. Too much was disjointed, uneasy, but his side was throbbing, and his mouth burned with the contents of his stomach. The patch sewn on the inside of his jacket was peeling and torn, an embroidered pair of funny sunglasses from another time, but Shiro hadn’t stopped picking at it. The sun had come to call by the time he dragged himself to his apartment.

It wasn’t good, but it was better.

He let the door swing close behind him and tripped over a mound of unwashed clothes in the middle of the floor before throwing himself down on the couch with a groan. The bed was just too far away to find and the pillows on the couch were soft enough for now. He reached for his flask, but the bottle was empty and Shiro threw it to the other side of the room with a muttered curse.

What a night! The steady hum of excitement still buzzed through his veins. The racers had been so daring, the machines so sleek and beautiful. He would have given almost anything to have a chance to get close and see under the hood. Back in the Garrison, he had spent whatever downtime on the weekends he could manage to eke out tinkering with the engines to make them go faster. Matt had always protested, but what were friends for if not for getting into trouble together?

God, Shiro missed him.

The engineer had survived the accident that had cost Shiro his arm, but they hadn’t seen each other in years. It was too hard to face what had happened and worse, it was hard to face someone who was still able to live out their dream of space while Shiro was grounded on permanent disability. It wasn’t fair.

His phone hummed and Shiro fumbled for it, staring blearily at the screen, trying to focus his eyes on the words.

_Hey baby, missing you._

_What are you doing tonight?_

_Hit me up._

They’d been sent at different times last night, when Shiro couldn’t care to notice. He snorted and let the phone slip from his fingers. Not now. Not tonight. Not ever again, Shiro promised like the last five times. The last message had been sent just over an hour ago. Shiro didn’t want to think about it, but the longer he stayed conscious, he would.

_I know where to find you._

The world lurched beneath him, swaying so violently, Shiro wasn’t sure where he was anymore, but flying. Flying he could be sure of, maybe. Flying had been the only time he’d ever felt real, and if he could never reach the stars then maybe, maybe he could fly fast enough to escape them.

 

* * *

 

“How about I get you a block of swiss cheese to drive? That way the holes are supposed to be there, and if you punch a few more in it, no one’ll notice.” Hunk scoffed, throwing down an oily rag on what had been a perfectly functional hoverbike less than a day ago. He picked it up just as quickly, like he was worried that the bike wouldn’t be able to survive even that much, even if it was less bike and more junk heap right now. He was a big man, but he was light on his toes, and moved around his workspace with grace that could have only come from familiarity, making distressed tutting noises as he inspected what the tow truck had dragged in today. “Did you drive it into a wall, Keith?”

“Not head on.”

Keith had the decency to sound apologetic, even if nothing would stop him from going out and doing it all over again. He wasn’t Red here, not in the light of day, and not in the company of the man who let him fly. Hunk was nothing short of genius, and he was one of the few people who cared to know Keith’s name. Keith could count them all on one hand. 

“I won.” He liked this bike, too. It had lasted him _months._

“This doesn’t look like winning.” Hunk grumbled darkly.

“Maybe you just don’t know what winning looks like.” Keith said with his arms folded, trying to hide his grin. It didn’t work and Hunk snorted, popping the hood open. Metal screeched against metal as the twisted hood fought him, but Hunk pried it open and sighed.

“I don’t know why I keep helping you build these things if you just smash them to piece. All my hard work! It _used_ to be a really pretty engine.”

“Because the prize pays for all the repairs and keeps our business going?” Keith hopped up on one of the shop’s stools and started flipping through the open notebooks on the workbench. “Besides, if the races weren’t exciting enough, they wouldn’t pay so much and she survived the last couple.”

“So much, he says, as if it barely covers the expenses.” Hunk grumbled, but they’d had this argument a thousand times before. They’d build and repair, somehow pulling the hoverbike back into racing shape just so Keith could smash it all up again before the next race. One of these days, Hunk was sure that Keith wasn’t going to walk away from the wreck, but his friend never wanted to hear the lecture. All he could do was make sure the car was sturdy enough to try and bring Keith back in one piece. “Hey! You’re going to get ink on those, don’t touch.”

Keith made a show of wiping his hands on his stained jeans before flipping through the pages. “Is this some upgrade you’re designing? These look pretty intense!”

The engineer snatched the notebooks out of Keith’s hands with a scowl that was more embarrassed than angry. “It’s just something I’ve been working on, it’s not ready yet.”

“Come on, let me see it?” Keith wheedled and Hunk finally relented, too tempted to get Keith’s opinion. The designs were still rough, but Keith could see the genius behind them. It was the reason he’d first brought Hunk into the shop with him despite the fact he had never been good at working with others. The engineer was overly friendly and almost aggressively compassionate, both traits Keith was trying to learn how to deal with, but his creativity couldn’t be denied. He knew how to look at scattered pieces, whether in the kitchen or in the garage, rearranging them in a way no one else could see. Hunk might have been nervous and skittish about his ideas, but with Keith had given him enough trust to start building and had never once been disappointed.

An obnoxiously chipper bell rang through the garage, and they both looked up before exchanging glances. They catered to a specific sort of clientele for most of their business, and it was not one that usually dropped by when the sun was still up. Hunk went to the door first. It was probably for the best. He left Keith watching from behind his junk heap of a bike as Hunk entertained their customer. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a tuft of white curled over his brow and an ugly scar, he was the sort of person that should have been hard to forget. It was a testament to how hard Keith had crashed that it took him so long to recognize the stranger.

“I heard you guys, uh, did custom jobs here.”

Keith closed his hood with a snap.

“Well look, it’s the big damn hero.”

Across from him, Hunk let out a sound of distressed annoyance, and Keith didn’t know if it was because he was riling up a customer or because Hunk was worried about how much more abuse his bike could take. It was worth it either way. Broad shoulders turned towards him, lazy at first like nothing out of his leather jacket could bother him, until he saw Keith and froze. It was satisfying to know he had no trouble recognizing Keith.

Details of the previous night were hazy at best. The race was bright lights and blood on his teeth, and it ended with soft skin and too much heat, but somewhere in the middle, Keith was being pulled as if towards the Heavens by a centerfold who wanted a pat on the back. It was jarring to know he was just as tall when Keith wasn’t fighting a concussion.

Keith was never suave or charming, he hated people too much for that. He’d learned how to put on a fake smile when he had to, but no one could ever say it was very successful. He kept his distance with a sharp glare and sharper tongue. Somehow, it seemed to attract even more devotion from his fans than if he’d tried to actively entice him. Now it looked like it worked well enough that the groupies were following him to work.

He crossed his arms and regarded the other man coldly. Well, if he was going to have desperate fans follow him around, at least they were hot ones.  “I don’t give out my number.”

“Your number?” The taller man blinked in confusion, brows furrowed and Keith realized that Mr. Hero hadn’t actually come in to see him. Well, that was a blow right to the ego.

“Whatever.” He waved his hand, dismissing the question before Shiro could think too much about it and realize the mistake. “What can we do for you?” Somewhere behind him, Keith could almost hear Hunk’s sigh of relief as he at least tried his best customer service line.

“I just…are you okay? That was a pretty big crash last night.” Shiro asked and Keith raised an eyebrow, doubting the sincerity.

Keith didn’t bother bragging, he just settled for the blunt truth. “I’ve been in worse, I’m fine.”

“He busted up my bike, is what he did!” Hunk yelled from the workshop. “Ignore him, is there something we can help you with?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess I was a little bit inspired by your race last night. Not the crashing part, obviously.” He said dryly. “I used to be pretty good with a hoverbike and I was feeling nostalgic. Figured I’d take a look at them again.”

Oh great, it was one of those. Some ass who watched too much Xer ProSeries and thought he could get behind the wheel of a hoverbike if he believed it enough. People like him were the reason he tried avoided the crowds, or at least, one of many. He wasn’t looking to hold someone’s hand down the finish line.

“If you can’t walk away from a crash, you shouldn’t be flying.” Keith scowled, always just a little too short on patience, and Mr. Hero tensed slightly, fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket.

“I think you’d do less crashing if you cut your thrusters sooner and drift into your turns instead of trying to force your way through. It makes boosting out of it smoother.” Shiro said, and Keith scowled a little harder. It wasn’t bad advice. It was something he’d been working on improving, but in the heat of the moment, it was so easy to stick to old habits, especially when those old habits landed him victories. Yet Keith was never satisfied with stagnation, and if winning was all he cared about, he’d have gotten tired of this game long ago.

Shiro had already turned away though, talking to Hunk about picking up a racer. Something that didn’t have to be road ready, but could still run. Keith cut in just as Shiro was negotiating details about renting Hunk’s workshop. He stepped in between them, calling the conversation to a halt without touching Shiro. “We’re taking the Renegade.”

“Wait what? It’s not ready yet.”

“It’s ready enough,” Keith said. “I was going to use it tomorrow.”

“You were going to take my Renegade?!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring it back in one piece.” Keith said as Hunk all but wailed.

“Sure you will. One big crumpled piece. Oh, I feel sick. I need to go sit down.” The engineer complained as he shuffled off to the back of the garage. Keith resolved to make it up to him, adding yet another tick to that list. He was going to have to stay on Hunk’s good side, he was constantly surprised the other man hadn’t bailed ages ago.

The Big Damn Hero was still watching him and Keith put on his best sneer. “You think you can handle it? We don’t sell to people who are going to get themselves killed the first 30 seconds they’re on a bike, if you wanted to get something with training wheels, I can recommend a different shop.” He might have just imagined it, but it almost looked like the other man smiled.

“No, I think I’d like to give it a try. You’re going to come with me in case something goes wrong?” Shiro asked innocent, letting himself sound worried which just fueled Keith’s resentment.

“Of course. Someone’s going to have to scrape you up off the pavement.” He snarked, grabbing two helmets and slamming one against Shiro’s chest hard enough to make him oof. The Renegade was still a work in progress, stripped down of all its pretty, flashy exterior to expose the hard metal and upgraded electronics. The candy coating would come later, but Keith thought it was beautiful like this, distilled down to its purpose without any frills at all. It was brutal and honest, built for speed and not for show. Once Hunk had his way with it, it would all be hidden under a chassis just like every other hoverbike in the races, but for now, its power was on display for those who knew what they were looking at.

Shiro’s eyes narrowed as they roamed over the sleek lines and exposed metal, but he didn’t say a word until Keith impatiently made a motion for him to get on.

“You want _me_ to drive?”

“Course I do. You’re the Hero after all, right? Let’s see what you’ve got in you.” Keith mocked, waiting until Shiro had slid into the pilot’s seat before taking his place behind him. He hid a smug smile as Shiro ran his hands over the controls, tentatively starting the engine. “You know, if you really don’t think you can do this, I can-”

His words were swallowed by the sound of the engine’s roar as Shiro hit the thrusters, sending them blasting from the garage with a whoop of joy. Hunk’s startled scream echoed behind them as Shiro raced into the darkening sky, disabling the altitude lock with deft hands.

They climbed higher and higher, past the landing zone and beyond the main traffic terminals, cars screeching out of the way as they flew. Shiro was flying them all the way up, and Keith couldn’t do anything but hold on, his heels digging into the Renegade’s footrests, his arms tight around Shiro’s waist, fists bunched into his jackets. Then everything stopped, and for one instant of pure bliss, they were floating, then the Renegade pitched forward, sending them to the ground at breakneck speeds as Shiro cheered.

And Keith cheered with him.

Shiro gunned the engine, pulling out of a nosedive far above the ground, but in a perfect arc to send them swinging through an alley. Keith saw stars. They weaved in and out of buildings, racing their waqy to the edge of the city. The hero moved like he’d spent his whole life in the air, obviously coming back to a game he’d spent years playing. There was an unevenness in his gestures, as he relearned the Renegade’s body, and he didn’t touch any of Hunk’s more subtle modifications but there was no hesitation. No fear.

Until the sharp bite of sirens made both of them look up as a black and blue patrol car painted the roads and buildings in blue and red.

“Shit.” Shiro breathed, voice muffled by his helmet. The Renegade started to slow, beginning its descent. Shiro was going to park, but Keith just slid forward, locking them together and putting his hands over Shiro’s. He was a wall of tense muscle and impossible heat against Keith’s chest, and Keith wondered if he could make him scream.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

He didn’t know it then, but Shiro never would. If only Keith had paid attention to the warning signs.

Keith steered the hoverbike into a hard left, and the machine purred like a kitten beneath him. Pistons pumping, metal singing, they tore through the back roads, switching between pedestrian bridges and traffic zones like they were playing hopscotch. He felt Shiro jerk back against him, moving with him to keep his balance without needing to be told. Keith had never raced with a passenger, but he never imagined it would be this easy.

Then he swerved into a parking building, crashing through the gate barrier and setting the ticket bot squealing. When he came out on the opposite end of the third floor, the police were still chasing their exhaust.

He ducked into an alley, slotting the hoverbike into an impossibly small space behind a dumpster and switched off all the lights. The sirens whizzed passed, lights splashing don the alleyway before disappearing around the corner as the sound faded away in the distance. Keith just sat back on his seat and whooped with laughter, yanking his helmet off his head.

“That was _awesome_! I didn’t know you had it in you, Hero.” He punched Shiro in the shoulder, but the older man twisted in his seat to level a disapproving look at Keith.

“Running from the police wasn’t really my plan for a test drive today.” Shiro said, but it was hard to be upset when his body sang with adrenaline and that old familiar rush of speed. Having a handsome young man pressed against him, smiling wide with his hands settled around Shiro’s hips didn’t hurt either. He softened, leaning into Keith’s space and let his lips curl into a smile.

“You did good, Hero. Much better than I was expecting, you’ve got skills.”

“I’ve got more than skills, I told you I used to be pretty good at this.” He said and for once, Keith believed him. “And it’s Shiro.”

“Shiro?”

“My name. Takashi Shirogane, but everyone just calls me Shiro.”

“Ah. I’m…Keith.” There was only the smallest hesitation. It had been a long time since he’d been anything but Red to anyone. His real name felt almost too personal.

“Keith.” Shiro tested out the name, finding it fit his mouth better than just _Red_ and Keith pretended not to notice the way Shiro’s lips parted or the tip of his tongue catching against his teeth. “Nice to meet you Keith, super great we almost got arrested. Next time I’ll try to go at least half an hour before the cops show up.” Shiro said with deadpanned sarcasm, startling a laugh from Keith.

They stayed there for what felt like a long time, pressed up against each other, the last of their adrenaline bleeding away before Shiro coaxed the Renegade back into the sky. They traveled at a more sedate pace, but Keith hadn’t moved his arms from where they were wrapped around Shiro’s waist yet.

Hunk was waiting for them at the garage entrance when they returned, or rather, he was waiting for his Renegade and went straight to checking it over with a sour frown. Keith almost felt sorry. He let Shiro disembark first, watching him move with unsteady legs. It was almost endearing after everything.

“Hey.” Shiro started, clutching his helmet to his chest. It had done a number on his hair, and Keith wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through those soft-looking strands. “I hope that next time’s still on the table?”

It would’ve been more obnoxious if he was holding his helmet like a shield.

Keith found himself smiling, just a little too sharp. “Tomorrow night. There’s a race by the docks. The ‘Gade should be ready by then.”

“No it won’t!”

Keith ignored Hunk. “I’ll see you there.”

“I’ll be there,” Shiro promised, smiling with so much warmth that Keith stopped to stare.

Keith didn’t understand it then, but that smile was going to destroy him.


	2. Chapter 2

Keith hated waiting. As far as he was concerned, he’d wasted too much of his life waiting for other people. Without a distraction, he was left irritable and unnerved, itching to take something apart and put it back together, but he’d already double and triple checked the Renegade. It was show-ready, all sleek lines and muted colors, though if Hunk had his way, it’d be bright yellow. Hunk always did like the sunnier shades. Three races had already concluded. Barring a raid, there was one more to go before it was his turn to fly, and Keith hated to admit that wasn’t the only thing he was waiting for. 

It was something else. _Someone_ else.

“This is pretty. After you totaled the last one, I was worried we wouldn’t get to see you around again.”

Keith tensed, turning on his heel quickly only to find a stranger staring up at him. Big brown eyes, a crisp undercut, and leather pants that must have been painted on. Keith’s shoulders slumped before he could catch himself, his teeth gritting together, and he went back to rechecking gages that he knew were perfect. “I’m working.”

“I always wanted to see what was under one of these things,” his admirer said. His eye wasn’t the first that Keith drew tonight, but he was the first one daring enough to approach. That’d only encourage the rest of them. He went to reach out and touch the Renegade’s hood. Keith stopped him with a sharp stare, and his hand froze, lingering awkwardly in the air. But he didn’t leave. “Do you think you could show me some time?”

Usually, he would have said yes. The best way to ride out the adrenaline from a race was to burn it off in someone’s arms. It was anonymous and meaningless, the guy certainly filled both of those requirements, but a familiar face broke through the crowd and Keith’s attention was instantly riveted. “Go away.” He said as the fan sputtered, embarrassed and rejected before slinking back into the crowd. “Shiro!”

He looked just as good as Keith remembered, broad shoulders and well-muscled arms straining at a worn leather jacket, the tuft of white hair catching the glare of headlights, and his skin flushed. Shiro’s dark eyes seemed almost fever bright and slightly unfocused, dark smudges beneath them. But he seemed excited, full of an almost manic energy that Keith found infectious. “Hey, I hope you meant that invitation.”

“Of course I did, I wouldn’t have bothered if I didn’t.” Keith said truthfully. “Like what Hunk did to the Renegade?”

Shiro gave a low whistle of appreciation, circling the bike to get a closer look without touching or leaving so much as a smeared finger print to mar the gleaming bodywork. Keith appreciated the care. “He pulled all of this off so quickly? It’s beautiful!”

“Not alone, but yeah. He’s the one who builds them and I’m the one who races them.”

“I’ve seen you, Keith. It’s more than just racing.” Shiro said and Keith shivered at the sound of his name, enjoying the almost too-intimate feeling. It didn’t hurt that Shiro leaned in, unconsciously trapping Keith against the hoverbike or that Keith leaned back against it to encourage him. “I know you’re going to win tonight. You might need a little work on control, but you’ve got more raw talent than anyone else on the field.”

“You’re giving me a pep talk?” Keith asked in surprise.

“Why not? Everybody needs one sometimes.”

“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?” Keith pushed back, but he was smiling. There was a bitterness on his tongue that didn’t have anything to do with the salt in the air, and heat that spread up his throat until it could sharpen his smile. Shiro hadn’t quite caught on, but Keith thought he was pretty when he was unsure. “If you think I’m a sure bet, I know someone who bookies all of these races.”

Shiro snorted, but Keith caught his eyes wandering. They lingered on a young woman with highlights in her braided hair. If Shiro knew her, he’d obviously been coming to more of these than Keith first thought. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten something wrong about his hero. Still, he hesitated, lips parted with a half-formed answer, and Keith wondered absently if they were as soft as they looked. This close, he could smell the drink on him. He made to pull away, not entirely convinced one way or the next, but Shiro caught him by the wrist, gentle at first like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, and when Keith inched closer, his grip tightened.

“I can do that.” He laughed. “And if I win, I can take you for drinks.”

“With odds like that, I’d rather throw the race.” Keith claimed, even though he was too proud to ever consider it. 

Shiro still winced, taking a step back, far too earnest when he was caught off-balance. “I mean, I didn’t mean it like that, if you don’t want to. I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable or-”

Keith cut him off with a snort, but something in his chest had twisted upside down and refused to unfurl. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smirk off his face. “Just place the bet, Hero.”

He didn’t expect Shiro to have one that was just as sharp.

“See you at the finish line, Red.”

Shiro stepped back as Keith gave him a quick salute, straddling the Renegade and revving the engine. He could almost imagine the ground was rumbling beneath his feet, or maybe that was just the way everything seemed to pitch and sway. Shiro knew he’d overdone it tonight, but he needed to be at his best if he was going to make a good impression. It had been so long since he’d tried to impress anyone at all, that he hadn’t been sure how to start.

A bet though, is that what Keith wanted?

It was stupid and impulsive, but as Keith shot him that triumphant, eager grin and pulled up to the starting line, Shiro found himself reaching for his wallet. It was as close to a sure bet as he could get, he’d seen Keith’s skill before. All he had to do was have faith in him now.

The bookie was eager to take his money and Shiro bet it all, risking everything on that grin. When the timer ticked down and the racers blasted off in a roar of engines and flame that scorched the asphalt. Shiro cheered with the crowd, letting himself fly with Keith as he raced between the warehouses of the dock.

“Watch it.” A hard shove almost sent him sprawling, snapping Shiro back down to earth. He fought to keep his footing and turned to blearily glare at the man scowling at him. It was that same one who had been talking to Keith before he’d arrived and from the look in the guy’s face, he hadn’t forgotten Shiro either.

“Back off.” Shiro muttered, turning back to the race but the man shoved him again. “What is your problem?”

“You think you’re so great? Red’s not into mangled types, you should know when to back down.”

Shiro felt his stomach drop. _After all this time_ , he chided himself. He still didn’t know how to be unaffected. He curled his fists, barely resisting the urge to hide them in the length of his sleeves, but all that mattered was that Keith didn’t know. Anger sharpened his features, twisting his snarl into something ugly. He raised his hand with deliberation, stripping off the glove to show the way smooth metal folded in on each other. “Don’t.”

But a rumble echoed through the crowd, cutting him off. Shiro turned, drawn instinctively to the race. The hoverbikes were coming down the home stretch, the rumble of their motors echoing through the night air, the glare of headlights creating an artificial day. The cheers got louder the closer they came, billboard screens coming to life. It was a close race, but the Renegade was in first place, and Shiro couldn’t help but scream, too. Seconds away from victory, rockets at full force, the night electric with anticipation.

Then the bike behind him lurched forward, burning nitros to give it that much of a punch. The racer raced past Keith, winning by a hair’s breadth. Shiro only stared.

It felt like a punch to the gut, the extent of his loss barely registering. Then that grudge-bearing son of a bitch took a swing at him, and the sucker punch sent Shiro tumbling to the ground.

If Shiro had been sober, he might have seen it coming, but his reactions were dulled and his thoughts slowed. His control slipped and rage filled him until he couldn’t see, all the pent up anger and frustration finally bursting in a haze of red. With a snarl, he turned on his attacker and swung, blood spraying as bone crunched beneath his metal fist.

The crowd had been seething for blood, and when they were denied their sport in the race, they turned on one another. With one punch, violence sparked between them and the crowd erupted in a brawl. Shiro didn’t care who bore the brunt of his rage and even after years, his body still knew the combat from muscle memory alone. He sent the other spectators flying, lips curled back in a snarl.

He didn’t see the racers run over after they’d parked their still idling bikes. He certainly never saw Keith until the other man called his name, piercing through the haze.

“Shiro!” Whatever else Keith was about to say was cut off as the racer caught a fist to the face and went down.

Shiro howled, beating down Keith’s attacker and wrapping his arms around the other man, bodily lifting him from the brawl. He didn’t stop until they were tucked behind the cars, sweaty and panting, blood from Keith’s split lip smeared across his lip. “Are you okay?!”

“I could have handled him!”

Keith pushed away from him with a snarl, hands clenched at his sides. Shiro was immediately apologetic, shoulders sagging unhappily. Keith’s lower lip was still bleeding sluggishly, a smear of crimson dripping down to his jaw. Shiro couldn’t look away from it, carefully cupping his cheek, slowly at first, giving him every chance to withdraw. Keith’s gaze was guarded, and there was a defiant tilt in his jaw as he leaned in, but he didn’t pull away.

“What the fuck happened back there?” The racer demanded.

“Some guy he just-” Shiro started, stopped, and looked embarrassed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.” He carefully dabbed at the wound, using his left clumsily. Keith hissed and pushed at his hand impatiently. Shiro was left fidgeting with his sleeve, his gaze distant. There was a pale blotch along the apple of his cheek that promised to bruise into something ugly, and Keith was more angry than he’d expected, and he didn’t want to focus on why. He reached for Shiro’s other hand, expecting broken, bleeding knuckles. Instead, the prosthetic was smooth beneath his fingers, solid and unyielding. Shiro flinched like he’d been struck.

“Bionic upgrades. You should see what else is made of steel.” Shiro answered a question that was never asked. It was a joke, stilted and uneven and at odds with the way he hid his hands in his jacket, but enough to surprise a laugh out of Keith, and his reaction did wonders for Shiro’s smile.

Very deliberately, Keith put his hand down and scoffed. “It looks like you know how to throw a punch.”

“It looks like your face blocks them pretty well.” Keith shoved him. Shiro let him. “Come on, let’s get it looked at.”

They both laughed again like two school boys escaping from pulling a prank, hearts racing and bodies singing with adrenaline. “Nah, I’m okay.” Keith wiped his lips on the back of his sleeve and gave Shiro a wicked, crimson stained grin. Shiro felt his heart flop, head still spinning from the race and the fight and the flask he’d all but emptied before he left his apartment.

Shiro grabbed Keith, fists balling into the racer’s shirt as he shoved him up against the closest car, too clumsy and too rough in his haste. He kissed Keith hard enough to hurt, tasting warm copper on his lips as Keith growled into his mouth, eager hands twisting in Shiro’s hair to drag him closer. It was like they caught fire, breaking apart with flushed skin and slick, stained lips to gasp for breath.

“I swear to god Shiro, if you apologize, I’ll punch you.” Keith whispered as Shiro bent down, huffing a breathless laugh against the other man’s neck.

“You’re sure this is okay?” He had to ask. Even drunk and reeling, he had to know for sure. Keith’s eyes glittered wickedly as he took Shiro’s metal hand in his own without flinching or reserve, dragging Shiro back through the parked cars and further away from the still seething brawl. It was quieter away from the crowd, but they could still hear the shouts and crash of broken glass.

“C’mon.” It wasn’t a request. Keith yanked open the door to one of the hovercars competing in a different class and shoved Shiro down in the back seat.

“Wait, this isn’t-” Shiro almost protested, but Keith’s mouth was on his, weight pushing him down into the customized leather and hands sliding under his t-shirt. He gave up with a needy groan, wrapping his hands around Keith’s slim waist as the racer ground down against his hips.

“Don’t worry about it.” Keith breathed, sending shivers across Shiro’s skin. “The owner’s a douche anyways.”

Keith licked the laughter off his tongue, driving him just as fast and hard as his hoverbikes, until Shiro was a trembling, needy mess, twisting and straining against him. The back of the sports car was too small, and Shiro was too tall and too broad and too thick to make moving easy. Keith wouldn’t stop teasing him, sliding his hands down the length of his chest, savoring the way powerful muscle coiled and rippled beneath his skin. He yanked off his belt, stripping himself of his pants without any ceremony for doing the same to Shiro, pushing back just far enough that he could get to what he wanted. His hands went to Shiro’s shirt, meaning to tear it off, but the other man stopped him.

Shiro’s eyes were blown wide, so dark they were almost completely black. Long shadows played across his features, making his lashes look thicker, his lips slicked pink and parted where Keith had taken him. Yet he still held firm, rasping, “Don’t.”

Keith could imagine the ways darkness played over his skin, a messy scar crawling just beneath the hem of his shirt. But Keith was always an expert at switching gears.

He kissed away a protest, one and hand on Shiro’s shoulder, his leather jacket bunching up beneath his fist. Kissed him until Shiro couldn’t breathe, until he was shaky and weak under Keith’s mouth.

“Condom?”

Shiro froze, blinking up at him owlishly, the color high on his cheeks. Keith watched a drop of sweat trail down his ear, towards the length of his jaw and he wanted to bite. Shiro had no regret, nor embarrassment, but there was a guilelessness to him, like Keith had really caught him off-guard.

“I- I- fuck.”

“That’s the general idea.”

Shiro laughed, and Keith scrambled for his pockets, pulling out a container of lube and a silver packet. He watched Shiro tear it open with his teeth. 

Keith yanked on Shiro’s hair, hard enough to force his head back and drawing out a drunken groan. He slotted their mouths together, demanding obedience as he sat back on Shiro’s strong thighs, straddling his hips. He could feel Shiro’s cock along the swell of his ass, so achingly close Keith was clenching down on nothing, anticipation like liquor on his tongue. Then Shiro was holding him up, spreading him open on his fingers that were slick and wet with lube. They were thick and long, good enough to make Keith roll his hips, trying to force them deeper. But not good enough to keep him still for long.

“Come on,” he rasped, bracing himself on the windshield that hung too low. Keith liked his bikes strong and powerful enough to give him a wild ride. He liked his partners just the same and when Shiro pulled him closer, his cock sliding in where he’d fucked him open, Keith groaned.

Shiro swallowed down the sound, kissing him hard and fast. His grip was firm around Keith’s hips, holding him steady as he pistoned into him, long cock dragging through him fast enough that he couldn’t see straight.

“Fuck- fuck!”

“That’s the general idea.”

God Keith did not need to hear that right now, but he was laughing and Shiro looked far too smug. Keith shoved him over, knocking him down when they had nowhere else to go, splaying him flat on the backseat, his long legs half folded off the chair, and Shiro sounded so sweetly surprised. Keith liked him like that, a captive, eager audience, and there was nothing he could do when Keith rode him  _hard_.

Shiro arched back, sweaty, sticky skin pulling against the leather, mewling like he’d never felt so good. The sharp teeth of Shiro’s pants bit into his ass as he took Shiro apart with the tight heat of his body, his slick tongue catching the salt on Shiro’s throat.

Keith knew that Shiro was stronger, he could feel it in the other man’s grip and not just the metal prosthetic that held him steady. A finely honed machine with some interesting upgrades and some history written in the scars Shiro kept hidden under his clothes. Keith wanted to get under the hood and take a closer look at all the pieces that made him run.

The backseat wasn’t big enough to maneuver, but Keith tried to sit back and knocked his head against the ceiling. He braced his hands on Shiro’s chest, squeezing the hard muscles and flicking over the nipples that were pert enough to just press through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The hands around him tightened as Shiro thrust up to meet every roll of Keith’s hips, hard and fast and chasing that high like they were still racing.  It was a competition to see who could drag the other over the finish line first.

For some reason, Keith thought Shiro would play fair. The Big Damn Hero was just too good at everything.

Unyielding metal fingers closed around Keith’s cock, cool enough to make Keith groan and his hips buck into the tight smooth grip.  Precum glistened against silver and steel in the reflected glare of the billboards as Shiro stroked his thumb down the underside of Keith’s cock. They teased against his balls, sending shocks of pleasure straight to Keith’s core and momentarily distracting him.

Shiro took advantage of that distraction, sinking into his agonizing heat, where Keith was holding him so good, Shiro could feel himself coming apart in his clutch. He couldn’t take his eyes off Keith, the way he moved with sinuous, predatory grace, like he was going to devour Shiro, and Shiro was so eager to surrender. His foot kicked out, catching the car door as he pushed up his knees, letting Keith brace himself on them as he fucked himself on Shiro’s cock, head thrown back, the long line of his throat rippling as he moaned.

Harder, faster until dark spots prickled at the corner of Shiro’s vision and he thought he would break, heat spreading down his thighs and all the way to his toes, heavy bands like steel squeezing the air from his lungs. Keith just looked so goddamn good.

“Keith.” Shiro pleaded, his voice was gravel rough, settling over Keith’s skin like a salve. “Keith wanna see you come on me.”

He squeezed, hard enough to make Keith’s eyes fly open, his mouth parted in a filthy moan, tightening around Shiro’s shaft and he was coming, thick white lines across Shiro’s fist. Shiro rolled him down, pinning him into the chair’s backrest and opened him up on his cock, fucking him through his orgasm, until Keith was cursing and writhing, clawing at him for relief, but he never wanted to stop. Never thought he could.

He came with Keith in his arms, gasping his name, his jacket bunched around his shoulders and an inch away from falling to the floor. Keith looked inclined to let him fall, eyes lazy and mouth wicked.

Shiro was  _shaking_.

He didn’t know how to stop.

It took him a second to come back to himself, clinging to his partner like he was afraid Keith would disappear. He was sticky and damp in too many places, torn open and fucked raw. Keith wore a smile the Cheshire Cat would’ve been proud of, like he was gloating, but Shiro felt like he’d won.

“… You bumped your head.” He said slowly, thoughts only half there. Shiro sounded contrite and amused all at once, gently running his fingers through Keith’s hair, and Keith scowled because that had no right to feel as good as it did. He swatted at Shiro halfheartedly and tried to feel anything but satisfaction.

There was barely any room to move, but Keith eased off of Shiro’s hips, peeling off the condom and tying it off. With a flick, he tossed it into the front seat before Shiro could protest, distracting his partner with a gentle, lingering kiss. “Hope this makes up for losing.” Keith teased, but he wasn’t prepared for the way Shiro’s eyes widened.

“That’s not why I-, you know that’s not why.” Shiro said, tracing his human hand down Keith’s face. “You’re beautiful.”

Keith had heard those words plenty of time, the groupies and fans he seduced after each race were always so eager to get a taste. They fawned over him, wanting the smallest piece of his fame and his attention, like it could rub off on them. It filled some hole inside of him that needed to hear them. It was proof that he was wanted, but when Shiro struggled to find how to say it, there was an honesty that made Keith shiver. Even Shiro’s eyes seemed clearer and more focused, a moment of sobriety as he tried to convince Keith that he wasn’t trying to take advantage after losing all his money on a bet.

He bent and kissed the corner of Shiro’s mouth to silence him. Shiro had done enough to prove himself tonight. A languid warmth spread through his body, the adrenaline giving way to a sense of satisfied exhaustion. If Keith had enough room, he would have stretched out over his pretty captive, stripped him bare to expose every inch of that scarred skin, and curled up beside him to steal his body heat. He stroked his fingers through Shiro’s sweaty bangs and enjoyed the way his partner’s eyes slid closed with a soft groan.

“Stay with me?” Shiro asked and Keith almost wished he could.

 _I can’t_ should have been the easy answer, but Keith suddenly found himself wishing there was a kinder alternative. What he got was a clusterfuck.

“What the fuck, who’s in my car?!”

They both froze, sharing twin expressions of utter horror on their faces. Then they were running, crawling over car seats and each other to tumble out the door. Shiro had their pants in hand. Keith was missing a boot, and something like a gun went off, or maybe it was just another car backfiring like those old millennial models, but they were laughing and screaming and and none of it mattered. Shiro had legs for days and Keith lost precious seconds making sure his junk wasn’t flying in the wind, and it wasn’t much of a sacrifice to see Shiro powering up the Renegade.

“Book it, Hero!”

They pulled into the skies howling with laughter, Keith’s arms tight around Shiro’s waist, and Shiro in his checkered briefs. And they didn’t stop laughing. They raced against the stars and designed their own games, taking turns with the Renegade and each other like they had all the time in the world. Then there was a painfully awkward convenience store stop where Shiro refused to be any sort of help and Keith hoped around on one foot.

Keith never found his boot.

Shiro was exhausted by the time he reached home. It felt like his nerves were singing, every inch of his body weighed down with the last remnants of adrenaline and the first pangs of hunger, but he couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so much. His head was spinning. The memories of Keith’s smile, his hands, his touch, they left him dizzy and wanting, but it was a satisfying ache, one Shiro wished would linger. His hands were shaking. It took him two tries to unlock his door. It smacked against empty bottles, sending them rolling across the floor, drowning out the way he cursed in the darkness. Shiro flipped on the switch at the main hall, but the lights didn’t turn on. The power had already been cut.

 _Shit_. He must have forgotten to pay the bills. It wasn’t like him, he was always so organized and on top of everything. Always so in control. It didn’t help that he’d emptied out his wallet and bet every dime on Keith’s loss. Since when had he started making such reckless mistakes?

But tonight wasn’t a mistake, he could still feel Keith’s weight on his hips and the taste of his sweat. That was a much better memory to dwell on, he was too damn drunk to worry about the electricity for now. He’d deal with it tomorrow somehow, right now all he wanted to do was sleep. Shiro kicked at the bottles until he found one that sloshed and downed what was inside until he stopped thinking about everything all together.


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro knew he was stalling.

He had been ever since he’d woken up, too late and too sore to want to get out of bed, his head throbbing and his limbs weak. He’d showered in the dark, the door thrown open to catch a glimpse of light, like every window was now, in the desperate hope of finding a breeze in the middle of a bustling metropolis. He sat by the fire escape, trying to find refuge from the stifling air. It had been a long time since Shiro had air conditioning, but the old electric fan in the corner of his apartment used to offer some relief. He told himself he’d accomplished something by clearing out his fridge, but old bottles of ketchup and empty bottles couldn’t get worse than they already were.

He was running out of options. Even without that reckless wager, Keith would’ve had to win two, three times to get him out of this, but Shiro couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it now, how easy it had been to let go and give in and run.

Shiro wanted to run again.

His phone let out a soft beep, its power all but drained. He was running out of time.

He dialed a number he knew by heart, even if he’d long deleted it from his contacts. It started ringing immediately. Normal people could hold on to a phone for more than a few months. His jacket was stretched across his lap. On it was an old, worn patch in the shape of a pair of orange sunglasses. They were flashy and tacky, and he’d loved it since the moment he saw them, a tribute to a long dead singer. The original Rocketman. He traced it now, and it was the only thing keeping him steady.

It wasn’t enough.

“Hello?”

A soft, silvery voice answered on the other line, and Shiro froze.

There was a thousand years between them, and twice as many lifetimes. She could still stop him in a heartbeat, but Shiro offered nothing but grief.

He hung up before he could answer her. The dial tone echoed in his ear, ricocheting through his skull like it wanted to take everything apart, stoking the flames of his headache until he thought his brain would split in two. With a snarl, Shiro through his phone across the room. It landed on his threadbare couch, before coming to life with a returned call.

Shiro held his breath until she hung up, too scared to answer. The silence that filled the room was deafening.

It hadn’t always been like this. If Shiro closed his eyes, he could remember what it was like back when he was still someone. He’d always been the golden boy, a good student and an ace pilot. He’d dreamed of the stars for as long as he could remember, sneaking up to his roof as a little kid to watch the sky. His mothers would find him in the morning, asleep under a stolen blanket, notebook beside him filled with timed observations of shooting stars and constellations. He’d gotten his chance, enrolling in the Galactic Garrison and working hard to be their top pilot.

He’d had charm and popularity, a natural leader who found a sense of purpose at the head of a team. He’d thrived on the challenges and lived for the thrill of exploration. He’d made new friends, created a family. Matt Holt had been at his side, his navigator, tech officer, and best friend who served as both the voice of reason and eager partner in their rule breaking. And then there was Allura, bright and beautiful with the power to command a room without even raising her voice. They’d started as colleagues, friendship leading to something more, a romance unrealized. The Garrison had frowned on fraternization, especially as they both shot through the ranks, and they were nothing if not good soldiers.

It was an opportunity missed and one that still stung with regret. Especially now, when he couldn’t even finish a call. After the accident, she’d seen his life crash and burn around him. Shiro didn’t have much left, but he had some small slivers of pride and he clung to them. Better she remember him as the man he used to be instead of what he’d become.

There was still one person who could help him, someone who never judged how far he’d fallen. Shiro made a face and dialed the number, almost wishing the man on the other end wouldn’t pick up. He wasn’t lucky enough.

“I knew you’d call.” No greeting, just straight to the point and Shiro winced.

“I have a problem.”

“How much do you need?” Sendak drawled, knowing him too well. Shiro hated how his ex could read him so easily and anticipate all of his weaknesses.

“Just a few hundred, I, uh…I forgot to pay the electric bill.” Forgetting was a more convenient lie than saying he’d gambled away his money and drank the rest. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I get the next pension check, it’s just a loan.”

“So you only call me when you want my money.” Shiro could almost feel Sendak’s smile through the phone. “I know you’ll pay me back, but I’d want a little advance to make sure my loan’s in good hands. Something to show me you’re willing to work for it.”

Shiro inhaled through his teeth, his hand curling into a fist around his phone as flickers of anger colored his vision. “I don’t need this.”

Sendak laughed. It wasn’t a friendly sound. “Babe, we both know that’s not true.”

When Shiro hung up, Sendak was still laughing. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to banish the memory of Sendak’s voice, but there was so much of him that he kept coming back to, that he knew more intimately than he wished he did. This wasn’t the first or fifth time he’d caved. He’d reached the bottom of his bottle, and it still wasn’’t enough to wash away the ugly truth. Shiro turned his phone off, claimed it was to conserve what was left of its battery. He didn’t have much, but he hadn’t fallen so far that he couldn’t lie to himself.

He couldn’t stay at home. It was too small and too still, like walking into a crypt. And Shiro was tired of being buried.

 

* * *

 

Keith wasn’t one to hum, but he felt like it today. He felt like doing a lot of things he wasn’t normally up for. Like skipping, or using his turn signals. He felt lighter, more satisfied, and work was twice as easy when the world was this much brighter. “- it’s really good with it’s turns, but I think we could give it a sturdier frame if we just redo the piping at the bottom and redo the bodywork to… What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you behind your massively bloated fish lips. Did you run into a door?!” Hunk demanded, voice gone high and squeaky with exasperation, and he was going to do that thing where he squinted at Keith until Keith popped. “Did you - were you  _thrown_  from the car? Dude, the harnesses are there for a reason!”

Keith touched his face, shrugging off the concern with a scowl. It didn’t feel as bad as it had that morning. It only ached when he moved.

“Calm down, Hunk. There was a fight. These things happen.”

“A fight, are you okay?” Hunk’s concern was immediate and Keith felt a momentary burst of guilt. The engineer was as close as he had to a friend and he was always making Hunk worry. He dropped the attitude, giving Hunk a weak smile.

“It’s okay, it was just an accident. Things got a little rowdy last night and I was caught in the middle of it. It’s no big deal.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “At least I brought the Renegade home in one piece, that counts for something.”

Hunk sighed and rubbed a protective hand on the bike’s glossy chassis. “How did you end up in a fight, you didn’t leave the bike alone, did you?”

Damn, Hunk always caught him. “It was only a few minutes. Shiro was in trouble and I went to crack some heads together.”

“Shiro?”

“You know, that guy who came in to visit? Scar on his face, really tall?” Keith raised his hand up in the air.

“The one who reeked like booze?” Hunk frowned and shook his head. “Dude, I could smell it on him as soon as he walked through the door. That’s bad news, you don’t need trouble like that. And now you’re saying he’s violent? That’s like, wee-woo wee-woo alarms going off.”

“C’mon Hunk, you know I don’t keep any of them. I’m not going to let anything distract us from winning. I was so close last night, but I was edged out for the win, that’s what we need to focus on.”

Hunk pressed his lips together into an unhappy line, not sure if he believed it. Keith’s life was his own business, but he worried about his friend who seemed to make one bad decision after another. “Just be careful, okay? You don’t know this guy, he could be really dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.” The words were sharp and defensive, and Hunk flinched. Keith never bothered to apologize.

He almost wished he did, then Hunk’s tablet went off, and Hunk broke out in a breathtaking smile. Keith’s mood immediately soured. He didn’t listen to the engineer’s explanations, or the halfhearted way Hunk excused himself to disappear into his office. It would’ve been funny how quickly his mood plummeted, if it had happened to anyone else. He worked in silence, the last notes to the song that had plagued his mind still tumbling through his thoughts, but it had lost its melody and its cheer. He couldn’t hear a word of Hunk’s conversation, but through the glass divider, he watched Hunk gesture excitedly at his screen.

The garage bell chimed, and Keith had half the mind to tell their customer to fuck off. Then Shiro walked through the door.

And Keith no longer felt as bad.

Shiro looked good, but that wasn’t fair. Keith always thought he looked good, even though the bruise on his cheek had gotten a whole lot uglier. It was hard to notice anything else when he waved at Keith even though they were less than a room away. Keith snorted, but he was a lot less bothered than he thought he ought to be. “What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to see if you found your shoe.”

Keith laughed, and Shiro took that as an excuse to come closer, whistling long and low as he got a good look at the Renegade’s insides.

“Well it’s not under there.” Keith teased, but he made no move to block Shiro’s view. Shiro knew how to keep his hands to himself. That was good enough for now.

“So, about last night.” Shiro didn’t really know how to start. Illicit hookups in the back of a stranger’s car wasn’t his usual opening line and Keith didn’t make it any easier, watching him calmly without his composure cracking. He half expected the racer to try and brag, but Shiro was slowly realizing that wasn’t his style. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me tonight. Or if you’re busy, maybe sometime later?”

Something did flicker across Keith’s face now, too fast for Shiro to catch it. He hesitated, “You asking me out on a date, Shiro?”

“I was trying to.”

Sex was one thing, a few minutes for Keith to lose himself in someone else. There were rarely names exchanged and never his real one. They were brief and satisfying, answering a need inside of him for a moment’s release before leaving. It wasn’t a question, he always left. They barely even registered as people, all of them completely interchangeable and never ending. They wanted a taste of him just as much as he wanted his sharp pleasures.

They never followed him home and he never gave them any more than the one night.

Keith glanced back at Hunk with a frown. He only ever fucked someone once, but when he looked at Shiro, he could still feel that twisting, desperate want to hold Shiro down and take everything. Hunk would never approve. Just one more fuck, that’s all it was, and he would be able to get Shiro out of his system. Besides, he rationalized, he didn’t get to see enough of Shiro to satisfy his curiosity. That was easy enough to fix.

“You wanna go now? If you’re serious, that is.”

Keith found it funny how he always seemed to catch Shiro by surprise. There was something oddly satisfying about it.

“Now? Aren’t you-” But Keith was already closing the Renegade’s hood and digging out a spare helmet. Shiro didn’t wait for the invitation, sliding into place in front of him.

“Don’t get comfortable in the driver’s seat, Hero.” Keith warned, but Shiro’s smile only sharpened.

“I didn’t hear any complaints last night.”

Keith thwacked him on the back of the helmet, and Shiro laughed over the rumble of the Renegade’s engine. Keith let his hands wander across the other man’s back before settling into his seat. This, he reminded himself, this was where he wanted his mouth. One little taste to end everything. It wouldn’t be a problem. They were in the sky before Hunk could close his office door. Keith ignored the urge to look back. Instead he reached up and waited for the sky to catch them.

Keith grabbed dinner at the greasiest bar they could find, and took a bottle of liquor as a going away present. Shiro took them out of town, past the winding multi-story roads and the hustle and bustle of too much traffic. He didn’t stop until the stars came out to greet them, along an empty stretch of desert that went on for miles on end, and then Keith pushed him further.

They flew like nothing could catch them. Keith couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to show off so badly, and Shiro just wouldn’t be impressed. Everything he could do, Shiro stepped forward to replicate until Keith found himself wishing, in the privacy of his mind, that Shiro could race too. It almost felt like he was drunk. The bottle they passed between them wasn’t helping, even if Shiro tossed back mouthfuls with too much ease. He still brought them to the ground first, the Renegade kicking up dust billows as they slowed.

“You’re stopping already?” Keith asked. It sounded like an accusation.

“How far do you want to run?” Shiro was laughing and Keith didn’t argue when he could press against Shiro’s back, feeling the warmth of his skin through his clothes and breathing in the scent of clean soap, desert air, and a trace of good tequila.

“Forever.” The word escaped, the wrong sort of answer, but Shiro didn’t tease Keith's sentimentality. The hoverbike came to a gentle rest on a rocky overhang, engine dying away into silence which settled around them so thick, Keith thought he might be able to touch it. There was no noise, no breeze through the desert night, no soft sounds of birds or animals. There was just the sky that shone with bright stars, the Milky Way almost close enough to reach.

Shiro swung himself off the bike and Keith reluctantly had to let go, watching as he stretched out on the ground to look up at the stars. Keith followed, though it was difficult to look anywhere but Shiro. There was something in him that seemed to light, some passion that shone in his eyes as he reached his hands up to the sky, flesh and metal.

“I always wanted to be a pilot.” He said as Keith passed him the bottle, tipping it back to pour the tequila down Shiro’s throat. The liquid clung to his lips, his tongue darting out to catch the escaping drops before Keith had a chance to do it for him. Shiro swallowed hard, letting the pleasant buzzing in his veins grow. “I loved the stars ever since I was a kid. I almost did once, I was so close and then…” He trailed off and let his hands fall to his side, the metal arm thudding heavily against the rock.

There was more to it, Keith could tell there was deep-rooted pain in Shiro’s voice, but he never stopped smiling at the sky.

Keith wanted that smile for himself.

“Not everyone could get into the Garrison. You get over it.” He dismissed, always just a little too blithe, a little too bitter, but he pressed himself against Shiro’s side, stealing some of that warmth. There was another way to sweeten his barbs. He cupped Shiro’s cheek, silencing any protest before Shiro could think them. He took in a mouthful of tequila, feeling its warmth on his tongue before slowly coaxing it passed Shiro’s lips. Shiro opened for him so eagerly, drinking him in with a greedy little whimper. Keith wanted to make him sound like that again. Shiro was needy and eager, arching into him with easy intent, but he moved the way Keith wanted, molding against his touch at the slightest push. He was insatiable, sucking down Keith’s tongue, and Keith slipped a hand behind his neck, holding him in place as he took him apart, pressing him into the hard ground. He let his hands wander down the planes of Shiro’s chest, and this, this was why he wanted so much, needed so much more than one night.

He pushed back Shiro’s jacket, slowly peeling tight leather off those broad shoulders but Shiro let out a little aborted noise, pleading for mercy. That was when Keith saw it, wrinkled and tattered, hidden in the folds of Shiro’s jacket. It was bright orange and gaudy, in the shape of an awful pair of tacky glasses. A morale patch, the sort that every squadron in the Garrison were given, down to the finely stitched details at the corner that bore the motto of the Garrison.

_From the stars we came  
To the stars we rise._

Keith froze.

“Takashi.” He whispered as Shiro blinked blearily up at him, trying to get his alcohol soaked brain to figure out why all the touching had stopped. “Takashi Shirogane, I  _knew_  I’d heard that name before. You were the best pilot in the whole damn the Garrison, everybody loved you.”

Shiro’s face was flushed, Keith could see it even under the faint starlight, and he pulled his jacket closed to hide the patch. “It was a different life.” He said, slurring around his words just slightly and Keith breathed a quiet curse.

“Your whole squad wore that patch, called themselves the Rocketmen after that stupid song by that British singer with the big glasses. I’d never forget.”

“How do you know that?” Shiro frowned and tried to focus on Keith’s face.

Tonight had been about getting drunk and fucking Shiro out of his system, getting rid of the lingering thrill so he could move on to the next, like he always did. Keith was never expecting to suddenly face all the memories he’d spent years running from. Keith ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself and settled back down against Shiro like he could hide in the silence. He didn’t talk about his past, not with anyone, even Hunk. The engineer might have guessed about a few things, especially because of his skill behind the controls, but he didn’t ask and Keith had always appreciated that.

He twined his fingers with Shiro’s metal ones, holding tight as the other man startled at the touch and instinctively tried to pull away before slowly surrendering. Keith ran his thumb along the metal, almost completely hidden beneath Shiro’s glove. This was too much, too personal. It was showing a weakness and vulnerability, which meant giving someone else the chance to hurt him.

But the stars were beautiful and Shiro watched him with dark, questioning eyes that caught their light and held them like sparks. “I was at the Garrison, a couple of years behind you. We never met, I washed out after only a year. Discipline issues.” He said sourly, vague enough to protect himself and honest enough to leave his chest aching.

Not everyone could get into the Garrison, and not everyone who made it could last, but goddammit, Keith had tried. He grit his teeth, jaw tensing in a hard line as the past caught up to him. He’d never worked harder for anything in his entire life. He’d clawed his way through terrible odds without anyone by his side and too much stacked against them, and when the Garrison sent their offer letter, it felt like fate. For a while there, Keith thought there was a reason behind all of his life’s misery, like he’d been tormented by demons just so he could prove them wrong.

But they weren’t wrong. Keith couldn’t make it. Just like he had no one else to thank for his success, he had no one to blame for his defeat. He didn’t think anyone noticed when he left. Some things never changed.

There was a gentle tug on his hand, and when Keith turned towards him, Shiro pulled him in, tucking him against his chest. He didn’t ask, but Shiro wrapped his arms around him, squeezing tight like he was afraid he would disappear. Keith didn’t fight it.

“I was good,” Keith whispered. “I made fighter class. I was really, really good.”

He screwed his eyes shut, letting out a ragged breath. It was a confession that cost too much, but Keith felt more and less than he thought he would. It felt like there was a hole in the center of his chest where something had been carved out, and he was still struggling to mend it. His ears were ringing, flushed pink with heat and humiliation, and he couldn’t believe who he was trying to convince. Or maybe there was a vicious part of him that was happy to see _the_ Takashi Shirogane brought so low.

Keith didn’t expect to feel guilty for it.

“I think you still are,” Shiro said. “You have so much potential, Keith.” He combed his fingers through Keith’s hair, comforting in a way Keith so rarely let himself have.

This hadn’t been the plan. It had all been so simple, a night of easy pleasure under the stars that ended with them both walking away satisfied.

“Potential doesn’t do anything when you’ve been bounced out on your ass and you have no home to go back to.” Keith said through grit teeth. “I was impatient, I always felt like they were holding me back and it got me in trouble. I lost everything.”

Shiro pressed a kiss against his temple, giving comfort without excuses. There was no way to make a loss like this feel better and Shiro wasn’t going to offer empty reassurances when he still felt that same deep ache at coming so close to the stars, only to have it all fall apart around him. But here in this moment, neither one of them had to be alone.

“Tell me what you want, Keith.”

It was an offer to bring everything back to simple, easy wants that didn’t hurt anymore. Keith twisted in Shiro’s arms to look at him, face almost lost in the desert’s darkness but his eyes still overly bright and unfocused. The words ran together but genuine. He was starting to realize that everything about Shiro was the real deal. This was the turning point where he could take what he wanted and go, pretend that he’d never let the walls crack or that anyone else had been able to see inside of him.

Instead, he just wrapped an arm around Shiro’s waist and settled in to watch the shooting stars streak across the clear desert sky.

 

* * *

 

The night passed in a blur. All Shiro remembered was the heavy warmth across his chest and the glow of a hundred, thousand stars. One moment he was floating somewhere between the earth and sky, then the next, the Renegade was stopping in front of his apartment. And Keith kissed him.

_Can I call you tomorrow?_

_Do what you want to._

_It wouldn’t kill you to say you wanted me to._

Keith had scowled, his entire face scrunching up in protest, but when Shiro went in for a second kiss goodnight, he pulled him in. Shiro wasn’t entirely sure everything had happened the way he remembered it, but as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, it was almost enough to make him forget about everything he’d left behind. But there was a notice on his front door, and two more slipped under it. Shiro didn’t bother trying the lights.

His head was spinning. It felt like he was separated from the rest of the world by a layer of cotton, everything slow and hazy. He tucked himself against his bedroom window. It had been thrown open all afternoon, and distantly, Shiro wondered how easy it would have been to break in. He should have been more careful. He wasn’t like this. This wasn’t supposed to be him, and Keith… Keith had seen the person he could be. Shiro couldn’t go on living in his own shadow.

For one night, he could believe that.

With clumsy fingers, he pulled out his phone and made a call. Every ring chipped away at resolve that was tissue-thin and just as sturdy. Allura answered before he could hang up.

“Hello?”

She sounded groggy, and Shiro realized he didn’t know what time it was, not a hundred miles away or in his home. But it felt good to hear her again, better than he could have imagined. He swallowed thickly, words clogging his throat, simultaneously too much and not enough. Nothing could be enough after so many years of silence.

Allura’s voice softened, hesitant but not with uncertainty, rather with the fear that she would scare him away. “Shiro is that you?”

“I’m sorry, I should call back later. I didn’t realize how late it was.” He was already apologizing, looking for any reason to end the call, but Allura sighed his name and he was caught like always.

“It’s okay, I’ve just been so worried about you. I’ve been trying to call you for ages.” She said and Shiro winced. He couldn’t even remember all the times he’d turned off his phone or did his best to ignore the incoming calls.

He lied before he could stop himself, it was easier than admitting the truth, though he knew she could see right through him. “I’ve been really busy, I’m so sorry. I’ll try and keep in touch more.”

“Are you okay?”

For a moment, all Shiro could do was cradle the phone by his ear. He couldn’t let her know, it was bad enough that everyone he’d loved had watched him survive the accident that should have killed him. He wasn’t that same person they remembered anymore, he barely even knew how to play the part anymore. Everything he’d hoped and dreamed had died that day and he’d walked away when others hadn’t. No matter what the engineers had said about mechanical failure, he knew it had been  _his_  fault. If he’d been a better pilot, if he’d been better…

They still saw him as a hero. They couldn’t see him now.

“Yeah, doing pretty good lately.” He forced the levity into his voice.

“You know, I heard Matt is going to be headed out that way soon. Why don’t you reach out to him, it might be good to see a familiar face. I can’t imagine it’s been easy being so far from everyone.” Allura tried gently, but Shiro could tell his acting hadn’t fooled her one bit.

“I’ll have to check my schedule, but I don’t know if I’ll have any time. I really have been swamped, there’s just so much going on.” He lied smoothly with all that same charm he used to use back when they still trusted him. Allura was quiet for a long moment and Shiro wondered if the call had been dropped before he heard her take a quiet breath, voice tired and soft.

“I’m scared for you, Shiro.”

“You don’t have to be.” Shiro insisted as earnestly as he could manage. “I have everything under control, I ju-”

“Then why did you call?” The crispness of her tone startled him silent, and instinct had him sitting up straighter, expecting a blow that he still wasn’t prepared for. “Is it about money again?”

His silence told her all she needed to know. “How much is it this time, Shiro?”

“Let me explain.”

“How much?”

His stomach plummeted, and Shiro didn’t want to be there anymore. Everything that the desert had given him had been stripped away in a matter of seconds, carving him up from the inside out, until he didn’t think there was anything left of him. At least, nothing worth saving. “Just a couple hundred. I just need a little help to carry me over until the end of the month.” His voice was too casual, too pointedly calm. “The power company they-”

_Upped their rates. Overcharged. Messed up his bill._ Shiro could think of a thousand excuses at the tip of the hat, but Allura wouldn’t believe him. After all this time, Shiro wasn’t sure he’d believe himself. So he gave one, the first that came to mind, and it didn’t matter. Allura cursed under her breath. It had been a long time since Shiro had heard her like that.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Shiro. This isn’t right. This isn’t you.” There was an edge in her tone, a steely determination that brought Shiro back to years and years of sweat, blood and tears; through innumerable projects and countless simulations. She’d been his squadron leader and dearest friend, and Shiro wondered if she still recognized him.

“Never mind, this was a mistake.”

“Shiro, don’t do this! You need help, just let me help you.”

“I said I was fine.” Shiro couldn’t keep the defensive anger from his voice. “Forget I ever called, I don’t need a lecture.” He never used to be so volatile, but anything else would be admitting she was right. Things hadn’t been so easy lately, but it would turn around. Everything was going to be okay, he just needed to sort a few things and he’d be back on his feet.

“Don’t you dare hang up on me!”

He ended the call with a flick of his thumb and after a moment’s hesitation, turned the phone off entirely before it could start ringing. He knew better than to have called her, he had been just so swept up in nostalgia after tonight that he’d made a bad decision. Allura didn’t know, she wasn’t ever going to know. He didn’t need anybody’s help.

Shiro tossed his phone to the other side of the room and shuffled off to bed, collapsing face down in his pillows with a tired sigh. He would deal with everything tomorrow, right now, he wanted to just block out the morning sunlight and dream of a dark haired troublemaker with a mouth made for sin.

But the power returned in the afternoon, and he received an alert of a cashier’s check on his phone.

It was too much. It was more than he asked for. It still wasn’t enough to make him call Allura back. Instead he swore he’d make a change, swore things would be different.

It wasn’t easy, but there were always people looking to higher muscle. He got a part-time job stacking boxes at a local grocery store.

Shiro lasted three weeks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter contains drugged sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, and under-negotiated kink.
> 
> Please leave comments if you enjoy it!

_I can’t make it tonight, sorry. I’m not feeling well._

Keith glanced at his phone and scowled darkly before shoving it into his pocket. Hunk looked over at him from the other side of the hoverbike, grease smeared across one of his cheeks. 

“Bad news?” He asked, leaning against the bike to catch his breath.

“No. It’s nothing.”

“Dude, you’re making that ‘I hate everybody’ face even more than normal, what happened?” 

“I am not!” Keith snapped, face scrunched in annoyance no matter how he denied it. “It’s nothing, Shiro’s just sick tonight. It’s fine, whatever.”

Hunk pressed his lips together in a disapproving line, but didn’t say anything. Whatever mistakes Keith wanted to make were his own business. He’d never listen to anyone anyways. Unfortunately, Hunk’s boyfriend never got the memo. 

Lance knew he wasn’t really welcome at the garage, which was why he showed up every chance he could. He lounged on one of the work benches like he owned it, lean body slouched over comfortably as he watched Hunk through lazy, half-lidded eyes. “So he’s drunk again.” He said as Keith prickled. “Surprise, surprise.”

“Or he’s just not feeling well.” Keith ground out, picking up a wrench and briefly visualizing whacking Lance in his annoying grin. It hadn’t been the first time Shiro had cancelled. Every once in a while he was just ‘too sick’ to make it to one of their dates. At least his frequent sick days had put an end to Shiro’s stupid job. It was beneath the genius of one of the Garrison’s best pilots to be working some low-wage nothing job and, even if he didn’t want to admit it, Keith resented the competition for Shiro’s time. It was better when Shiro was free to cater to Keith’s schedule, always waiting for a chance to see him again. Eager to hear from him.

It wasn’t fair, Keith knew that. But it made a pretty picture.

“Or maybe he’s tired of the fact you never call him.” Lance apparently wasn’t done. “Dude, have you  _ever_  called him or you only like it when he’s the one chasing you? How many hoops you make that guy jump through already?”

“You don’t know anything about us.” Keith snarled. No one could raise his heckles faster. Keith didn’t know where Hunk found that son of a bitch, but he knew where he could put Lance. It was a one-way trip.

There was no love lost between them.

“I know assholes like you need to put everyone else down to feel important.” Lance made it sound like Keith’s shortcomings were his victory, and Keith couldn’t stop his hands from balling into fists around his tools. It had been like this from the very beginning with Lance, a second-rate racer that Keith didn’t recognize no matter how many times he yelled his moniker. Keith had doubted him from the start; he never understood why Hunk wasted so much time with a mouthy asshole, and his opinion of him had only soured the longer they knew each other. Then when Keith thought there was no way it could get any worse, he caught one of Lance’s races. It was an even bigger shit show than he expected.

“Guys that’s-” Hunk tried to intervene, but Keith cut him off with a snap.

“Hunk, if you can’t keep your mouth shut then at least keep your ass muzzled. He’s not even supposed to be here.”

Before Lance could retaliate, Hunk silenced him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, his expression pinched with discomfort. “Dude, drop it, please? Can you just wait in the office? We’re almost done here.”

“Fine.” Lance hopped down off the work bench with a wide smirk and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Hunk, when you’re done tip-toeing around his ego, come talk to me. We still have a few things to discuss.” He slouched into the office to wait as Hunk turned back to the engine, trying not to look at Keith.

It didn’t work.

“I have no idea why you even bother with that loser. You know he just wants you because he thinks you’ll help him win.” Keith snorted. As if that could even help. Lance wasn’t in his category, favoring cars instead of the sleeker hoverbikes, but even he could see that Lance didn’t have the skills.

“Can we just stop please?” Hunk muttered. “All this fighting is making my stomach hurt.”

Keith scowled, sending his best hate filled look towards Lance before throwing his weight against the engine. The wrench slipped and his knuckles hit the metal, scraping the skin off as he hissed in pain. He dropped the wrench with a clatter and a curse, sucking his bleeding knuckles like it would ease the ache. “This is stupid, I’m going out.”

“Keith-” Hunk called out to him, but Keith had grabbed his jacket and keys to the Renegade.

“I want Lance gone by the time I come back.” He snarled before storming out. The Renegade’s engines roared to life as he tore out of the garage and left Hunk behind.

You couldn’t trust any of them. Shiro was avoiding him, Hunk was trying to replace him, he shouldn’t have expected anything less. They both said they cared, but when it wasn’t convenient to just pretend anymore, they showed their true colors. They all just lied, this is what he got for relying on anyone but himself.

 

* * *

 

The aftermath always felt like a dream, detached and distant like nothing could really touch him, and all Shiro could hope to do was give in. It was like watching someone else’s story, one he already knew the ending to; it was never a good ending, not really, but it was the ending the main character deserved. He hadn’t been a hero in a very long time.

Shiro knew it had been four days since it started, a little less than that since he’d cut off communication with everyone. With Keith. He’d forced himself to know. He’d read and reread the little numbers on his phone until it sunk in, but it was over now, in as much as it could be over. Shiro was clear-headed enough to know he needed to get his apartment in order, at least a little, and clear-headed enough to know he wasn’t going to do as well as he was supposed to. One bottle, two, three. He picked them up as he went, tossing the empties into a black bag in the corner. He had to get as much done as possible before motivation fled, and it was already slipping away.

He put the coffee table back where it was supposed to be, tried and failed to remember when he’d thrown it across the room. The pill containers around it were still mostly full. His doctor had been very enthusiastic about those. Shiro wondered if he still was. It had been a while since they spoken. In contrast, his unprescribed treatments were all but gone. That ‘doctor’ was a lot more careful with his wares. Shiro put them both away, but not fast enough to avoid his disgust.

Shiro changed the sheets, ignored the laundry. Threw out the trash, ignored the dishes. Showered. Shaved. They were small steps, and there were too many in between that he couldn’t take, but he tried to tell himself they still mattered. They were better than standing still.

He called Keith, only to listen to the phone ring and ring and ring. There was no answer, but he tried again. Then one more time for good measure, always making sure to spread the calls out enough to be convenient. Keith didn’t even need to make excuses. Shiro would make them for him. Keith was one of the few good things he had going for him, maybe the last of them.

He hoped he hadn’t lost him already.

The idea of going outside made his ribs feel too small, but he wondered if it would be okay to drop by the garage again. Maybe he could get food, real food. Tonight, he thought he could care enough to eat. 

Then there was a knock on the door, and Shiro tensed. Instinctive caution pushed everything out of the way - only to flee the moment he realized who was waiting for him.

“ _Keith_.” 

He couldn’t get the door open fast enough, and Keith noticed.

“H-hey.” Shiro rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how he could explain. There was no real way to put one of his episodes into words. He couldn’t explain the crushing panic, the drowning fear, the screaming terrors that would never let him sleep, and all the ways he tried to fix them. He offered Keith a weak smile, looking tired and worn with deep smudges of purple beneath his eyes.

But Keith smiled back and it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. When Keith pressed in close for a hug, Shiro felt like he could fly.

“You feeling better?” Keith asked and Shiro huffed a laugh.

“Better now that you’re here.”

That seemed to make Keith even happier, and Shiro took the opportunity to steal a kiss, backing Keith up against the closed door until their bodies pressed together and he could forget the nightmare of the last few days in something real enough to hold. Keith’s hands worked their way under his shirt, stroking down the muscles of his back. Shiro had been so worried for nothing it seemed, this reunion was going much better than he’d hoped.

“Sorry the place is such a mess.” He pulled back just far enough to murmur against Keith’s mouth. He cradled Keith’s face in his hands, marveling at the feel of warm skin against his palm. After everything, this felt like a blessing. “Let me get you a drink.”

But he made no effort to pull away, still gently stroking his fingers down Keith’s cheek, down the sharp line of his jaw and the graceful curve of his neck before moving back up to complete the circuit. Keith laughed, but it was intimately soft and ghosted over Shiro’s mouth, so close their lips just touched.

“What about that drink?” Keith reminded. It clashed with the lazily circles he drew into Shiro’s skin and his smugly satisfied smile.

“Right. I should.” Shiro agreed, but leaned in for a kiss that sent shivers up his spine.

“I really should.”

And another one.

“I’ll get it myself.” Keith laughed, halfheartedly pushing him away, but he submitted when Shiro leaned in to kiss the side of his mouth once more. 

He was grinning as he ducked under Shiro’s arm and was halfway to the kitchen when he noticed Shiro hadn’t moved. The other man watched him from the doorway, and Keith had to give pause. No one had ever looked at him like that, with so much warmth and open affection it made his stomach flutter. It softened the shadows under Shiro’s eyes.

“What?”  

“Nothing, it’s just…” Shiro’s expression twisted into something self-deprecating and wry, his nose scrunching up in embarrassment, but that wasn’t enough to stop him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Shiro moved back to the living room, cleaning up more quickly than he had been. It wasn’t until Keith was opening the fridge door that he realized he was smiling, too. It soured just as quickly. Empty beer bottles stood next to empty take out cartons in the fridge and that was the closest Shiro had to food. He tried a couple of cupboards, before he found a few unopened bottles in a carton tucked against the counter. It almost looked like Shiro had forgotten about them. A packet of small green pills was tucked in beside it. Keith knew where to get those. He couldn’t say he liked what they did.

But Shiro was waiting for him in the living room, and he’d spread out a large blanket across the couch and dropped too many pillows on it, like a nest.

“We could watch a movie or something, order a pizza. Just something quiet, you and me together.” It would be the perfect night for his frazzled and abused nerves, and he couldn’t help but hope that Keith would want to stay.

Keith grinned as he set the bottle on the coffee table as he curled up next to Shiro, taking every opportunity to spread himself possessively across the other man. He dragged his hands down Shiro’s chest and nuzzled in closer. “Just you and me together. That sounds pretty nice.” He all but purred.

This was exactly what Shiro needed and he let them sink down into the nest of pillows. It was easier to keep the bad thoughts away when he was distracted by someone soft and beautiful in his arms. He carded his fingers through Keith’s hair, the finely tuned sensors in his metal skin picking up the feeling. It was almost like the real thing. It had been a really long time since Shiro had felt like this, he’d never been able to let his guard down in a relationship before. It was easy to just let himself be happy, he needed something simple and _happy_.

“I could get us something to eat.” Shiro said without any attempt to move. He wondered if he could tempt Keith into staying the night, he hadn’t been able to sleep in days but he could feel the sweet creeping exhaustion now, ready to just wrap himself in Keith and let sleep claim him.

“Mmm, you’re really ramping up the romance here.”

“That’s what I do.” Shiro teased, but when Keith slid into his lap to straddle him, the boast died on his lips. His hands settled around Keith’s hips and he leaned back against the touch with a lazy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Keith leaned into press a kiss to the corner of Shiro’s smile. “I just wanted your full attention.”

“You definitely have it, you always do.”

Something twisted across Keith’s face, a moment of doubt. Shiro always said the right thing, he was funny and smart and way too damn charming for his own good. All he had to do was speak and people fell over themselves to obey, but what if it was just a show? He’d been holed up in his apartment for days and now just acted like there was nothing wrong. _They all just lied_. “Do I?”

“Of course you do! We have all night, that’s plenty of time to prove it to you.”

Shiro was pliant and needy under Keith’s hands, so eager to do what was asked of him.

Like nothing had changed, like he’d forgotten he’d ignored Keith for the better part of a week. It left a bad taste in Keith’s mouth that he couldn’t swallow down. When Shiro wrapped his arms around him, a chill raced through Keith’s nerves wherever their skin touched.

“Do you actually like me?” Keith asked before he could stop himself. There was a voice in his head that sounded like someone he wanted to forget; it whispered too much that Keith didn’t want to hear but could never outrun, no matter how hard he tried. This was a game, it was always a game, and Shiro had gotten tired of playing. Tired of Keith, tired of his selfishness and _ego_.

“Of course I do.” Shiro laughed, eyes hooded and gaze hot. He was so effortlessly sultry, it almost pained Keith to touch him. “I can’t believe you need to ask that. What’s wrong?”

Keith couldn’t be here with him, couldn’t be like this, not when every moment felt ephemeral.

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I came over.” Keith lied easily. He’d planned nothing beyond finding Shiro and making him  _his_. Figuring out how was never easy. “Let’s get out of here. I want to show you something.”

“What.” It wasn’t a question. Shiro looked surprised. He’d been caught off-guard and something unhappy flashed across his features as he struggled to catch up with the sudden change. Keith only caught it because he was looking, and vindication crawled up his throat and stung as sharply as bile. Shiro sat up, hesitated, and asked softly, “Tonight?”

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” Keith asked, intentionally blithe, and for a moment, Shiro looked towards the main door, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“No? I mean…”

Shiro hesitated for too long.

“Never mind, I’ll go without you.” Keith slid off his lap easily, taking the beer bottle off the table and popping off its lid. There was something manic about the way Shiro’s gaze was instantly drawn, Keith wasn’t sure if he liked the attention or if he loathed it. Keith wasn’t sure if the attention was his at all, or if it belonged to the bottle. “I’ll call or whatever.”

“Wait!”

Keith hadn’t even turned to go, but something about his smile took Shiro’s breath away. 

They were in the air in minutes. Keith always did feel better when Shiro was the one chasing after him. It didn’t hurt to have Shiro pressed up behind him on the Renegade, arms wrapped tightly around his waist as they raced through the city, taking the corners too sharply to be safe. Lance didn’t know what he was talking about, how could it be a bad thing with the burst of adrenaline and Shiro laughing in his ear. Shiro wanted him and Keith wanted to make sure he never stopped smiling.

The ride ended all too soon in front of some non-descript brick building and Shiro let Keith pull him inside. This wasn’t Keith’s scene, but he’d been invited to enough of these to know where to find them, and there was n shortage of invitations. He liked it when people liked him more than he liked them. 

Someone pressed a drink into Shiro’s hand, and then another, and he didn’t resist as he downed them all and followed Keith’s razor sharp smile into the party. He lost himself in the pulsing music and the heady smoke, in the way Keith’s body fit so perfectly against his own. Shiro let go of the fears and the anxiety that plagued him and the past that would never let him go, focusing on just this moment.

It felt like he was drifting, or maybe that was just the drinks talking, and Shiro pulled Keith in to dance. The room was hot with the crush of people around them, sweaty and writhing, and Shiro loved it. Keith moved like sin, laughing as he tried to guide Shiro through the smooth roll of his hips. They kissed in the middle of the crowd, shameless and wanton.

Shiro had no idea how long they stayed, the night blurring together until Keith urged him to a corner to breathe. They flopped down into a booth as Keith held another drink to Shiro’s lips and he swallowed obediently, leaning back with a groan as the world spun around him. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Keith said, draining the rest of the cup.

“For getting me out of that apartment. For being here.” He slurred, trying to fit his mouth around the words. “I owe you for that.”

“Oh really? Maybe we should play a game then.”

“What kind of game?” Shiro said, and it was never a question if he would agree or not. Keith liked that about him, liked the way he pressed closer when he was impatient. Keith thought he could play all night. He ran his hands over Shiro’s chest then dragged them across his broad shoulders before following the dip into his clavicle. He felt his partner shiver when Keith pushed just right. It stoked a hunger in Keith’s chest, a greedy, filthy desire that he desperately needed to feed.

This was going to be fun.

“I want to do shots.” Keith decided with an absent gesture towards one of the waiters, before opening up Shiro’s jacket. The other man hesitated, wordlessly protesting until Keith pushed harder and he gave in, letting beaten leather slide down his arms and leaving Shiro in a threadbare cotton shirt. It was stretched temptingly across his body, whispering against chiseled muscle and supple skin, and he caught a glimpse of Shiro’s mechanical arm as it dimly reflected the disco lights. Now Keith could look his fill. “On you.”

Shiro flushed in the darkness, his pretty mouth kiss-bruised and bitten red, forms around words he wasn’t sure he could say before he whispered, “Here?”

Keith kissed him again. It was too difficult not to, and by the time he pulled away, he was aching. “On the table.”

Shiro inhaled sharply. His eyes had gone wide, and the blush across his cheeks spread down his throat, but he reached between Keith’s legs and palmed him through his jeans. “Do you want people to see us?”

“I want them to see you.”

Shiro looked so good when he said yes. When the waiter returned with their order, he was sitting on the table, legs spread for Keith and flushed and excited. Keith yanked him forward by his collar, stretching out the fabric until he could paint salt into the hollow of Shiro’s throat, and his lover’s head fell back in acquiescence. His hands bracketed Keith’s waist, strong and steady until Keith dragged his tongue across his pulse and they shuddered helplessly. He heard Shiro gasp above him, felt him tense in anticipation, and when Keith bit down, Shiro moaned. Keith’s mouth was tingling when he downed the shot, and even afterwards, with citrus spilling across his teeth, all he could think about was how Shiro tasted.

Shiro was a mess. Sweat dripping down his brow and across his chest, colors dancing in his hair… Keith didn’t think he had enough.

“Your turn.” He ordered, salting the long line of his fingers, and Shiro opened his mouth so sweetly, letting Keith fuck him open. “I’m going to fuck you here, Shiro. Just like this. Want you to open for me and take me all the way down. Can you do that?”

Shiro was breathless when he pulled away, mouth shiny and slick, but Keith wouldn’t move until he nodded, wheezing out a broken yes. Then Keith helped him swallow down his shot.

He made Shiro hold his shirt up for him and lean back, made him show off his pecs and abs and the dark trail of hair that lead somewhere lower, somewhere infinitely more desirable. Keith teased his tits between his teeth, sucking and biting until they were erect and hard and Shiro was mewling for more, too far gone to complain that Keith hadn’t even started. Keith took his time smearing salt across his sternum, lapping him up until Shiro was loud and needy and pleading for him to _please, please Keith hurry_. Then Keith poured his shot over his chest and licked that up, too.

Shiro fell back with a groan, spread across the table before Keith could reach for his lemon slice. It was a show, exactly the way Keith wanted. What he didn’t account for was audience participation.

“Is this a private party?”

Keith took in the newcomer, blonde and slim, and the dark-eyed woman on his arm with haughty disinterest, sucking lemon down slowly to buy himself time.

“Keith.” Shiro whimpered, shivering beneath him even though the room seemed a thousand degrees too hot. “ _Keith_.”

It was nice.

“I call the shots.” He said, smearing salt across Shiro’s abs and into the dip of his belly button. “Understood?”

But the only answer he cared about was Shiro’s, and the way he moaned so obscenely as Keith made him feel good. As Keith took him apart. Keith thought it was exactly what he deserved.

He moved around Shiro, giving them room to play, watching them lick him and taste him. There were scars across Shiro’s skin, he’d felt them on his lips and tongue, and Keith wished the lights were brighter. He wanted to see everything.

“Keith!”

Keith was on him immediately, stroking a hand down Shiro’s face as his partner mewled so sweetly. He fed him a shot with no prep and made Shiro lick the glass clean as he was touched. Shiro smiled at him, watery and shaken, and when Keith kissed his brow, he sighed in relief.

“Open up for me, Shiro.” Keith whispered into his skin. “Let me have you.”

A rush of heat coursed through his veins as he watched Shiro open up, spread out across the table like a feast, his head hanging off the end and mouth wide. He was so good for Keith, so dedicated, so loyal, and when Keith unbuckled his belt and fucked into his mouth, Keith didn’t know who he was rewarding.

“Is this okay?” The blonde asked, his hands on the front of Shiro’s pants, the front button already undone.

Keith paused, his cock buried deep in Shiro’s mouth, balls resting against his lip. He could feel Shiro shuddering around him, feel him struggling for air but still so obediently pliant. It was the ultimate surrender, a dizzying sense of power that hit Keith harder than any liquor.

He wanted to see how far it went.

“Yeah,” he slurred, dragging his cock across Shiro’s tongue, before his hips thrust in cruelly and his lover moaned for and around him. “Show him a good time.”

When the man pulled Shiro’s pants down, Keith dabbed a line of salt across the cut of Shiro’s hip and ordered him to bite.

Shiro’s body arched under the touch, cruelly sharp with agonizing pleasure, bowing back against the table as the man sucked a bruise into his hip. He was stripped and laid bare, a prized feast for a hungry crowd that gathered around him. He was distantly aware of them watching, pressing in around him, but their words were lost in the funhouse music. Their faces blurred together until all that remained was the feel of them, Shiro a single flayed nerve begging to be touched.

Muscles in Shiro’s jaw ached as he choked around Keith, struggling to take more as Keith used him hard.

“Good.” Keith watched the crowd with hooded eyes, marking his claim but drunk on the power. “Go on, spread him.” He ordered and the man widened Shiro’s knees, putting him on fully display. Shiro was thick and hard, cock curved tight against his belly. Keith gave a nod, and the woman bowed her head, taking Shiro down between her plush, pink lips.

“Hold still.” There was steel in Keith’s voice as he pulled out to let Shiro breathe, bending down to press a wet, sloppy kiss to Shiro’s gasping mouth. “Don’t move, I want you to keep as still as you can. You can do that for me, right?”

Shiro only whimpered, before he parted his lips to let Keith sink back down into his tight, wet mouth. His whole body was trembling, the flashing lights catching the sheen of sweat that slid down Shiro’s abs as he tried to obey. His hips stuttered as the man pressed a finger against his entrance, working him open as his partner traced the head of his cock with her tongue, swallowing her down until sparks danced behind Shiro’s eyes.

“I said, still.” Keith threaded his fingers through Shiro’s hair, giving a sharp tug to remind him of his place.

Others pressed in around them, calling out suggestions and encouragement, but Keith snarled to keep them back. If they wanted to watch, they’d do it on his terms. This was his show and Shiro belonged to  _him_.

He slid a hand around Shiro’s throat, his fingers resting against his pulse, feeling it race beneath his skin, so fragile and delicate like no one would assume Shiro was. Only Keith knew how much more there was to him, and that sent a hungry thrill of pleasure through his veins, as sweet as the suction around his cock. Shiro was choking around his shaft with wet filthy noises, and Keith made him work for it, grinding into his mouth, until Shiro reached for him. He took his hands in his own and forcing Shiro to stretch up, up, up until his chest was heaving and his back bowed. Shiro had to fight to keep position, but he didn’t pull away.

Good.

_Let them watch. Let them want._

“If you can’t make him scream, you shouldn’t be fucking him.” Keith drawled, walking a possessive hand down Shiro’s chest. The blond hissed under his breath, but the challenge made him reckless. His grip tightened around Shiro’s thighs, keeping him steady as he adjusted his stance. As he sank into Shiro’s tight warm cunt, Keith took a shot. The alcohol burned the whole way down.

Shiro wailed, thrashing beneath Keith, arching off the table. His fingers dug into Keith’s hips as he grabbed on to him, too obedient to consider moving where he hadn’t been allowed, and Keith groaned, dizzy with pleasure. “That’s it, baby that’s it. Take it. You’re taking it so well taking it so good.”

He felt Shiro cry out, felt him whimper and moan, throat constricting around his cock as the blond picked up pace, thrusting hard enough to lift Shiro off the table. His partner swallowed Shiro down, kissing the back of her throat, her lipstick smeared across his shaft. Keith could feel Shiro trembling, thrashing as he fought for release.

“He’s not allowed to cum until I say so.” Keith ordered, meeting the woman’s gaze. Her mascara ran at the corner of her eyes, darkening her gaze and making her look wonderfully ruined. Keith thought she’d look good riding Shiro’s cock. “He has to earn it.”

Shiro was a wreck, mouth full and jaw aching, drooling across his cheek, and when the blond came inside him, buried to the hilt and spilling into his abused hole, he cried. Keith stroked his hands over his throat, imagined he could feel the pressure around his cock and squeezed just a little. “Shiro-”

Keith pulled out just in time, spilling across his lover’s face in thick white streaks. He painted the swollen curve of his mouth, spilled over his cheeks, and when he was done, he was shaking, knees threatening to give out from under him. But he pulled Shiro up by the hair and braced him against his chest, made him face their public with cum caked to his lashes and dripping out of his mouth, and whispered, “You’re going to be so good for us.”

They wouldn’t leave him empty for long.

They wanted Shiro on his hands and knees. They wanted him bent in two and vocal and hungry. They wanted him open and willing, wanted him to give everything he had. They poured wine down his chest and licked him clean, made him work for every mouthful he got. Keith was always there, holding him, grounding him as he was taken apart again and again. They called him pretty and they called him a whore. They fucked their cum deeper when they weren’t painting it on his skin. 

Keith was the only one who took his mouth.

There was nothing more beautiful than watching Shiro being ruined. Keith drank him in, always hungry for more. He tried to memorize every inch of Shiro’s body, wondering why his partner had been so hesitant to show it off. Deep scars and burns crisscrossed his skin, but it didn’t take away from the perfection. Shiro was hard muscle trembling tight, thick thighs, and so lean. He was artwork, debauched and magnificent.

Keith directed the action, ordering the players to give Shiro the most pleasure. He teased and tortured, watching his willing captive writhe. Tears streaked down Shiro’s face, but he kept his eyes on Keith who never felt more powerful.

A woman climbed into Shiro’s lap, head thrown back and chest bouncing as she rode his cock. Only another biting command kept Shiro from coming as she squeezed down around him with a gasp, leaning down as her long hair trailed along his flushed chest. She shuddered again, using him again and again until she was satisfied. When she finally kissed Shiro’s chest and slipped from his body, Keith was pleased to see Shiro was still hard.

“You’re doing so good for me.” Keith murmured as another man took the woman’s place, bending Shiro’s knees to his chest and thrusting deep. “You should see yourself, you’re so pretty.”

Shiro’s eyes rolled back, lost as the man pounded into him, hands wrapped around others eager to play and spend themselves across his body. Hands closed around his throat and darkness spiraled down around him, vision narrowing down into two pinpricks of light. He choked, trying to suck air into his lungs, but the man riding him just laughed.

“Just relax, baby. This will make it feel better, you’ll like this.”

Panic replaced pleasure as Shiro gasped, trying to pry the fingers from around his neck. The words seemed to echo in his brain, twisting with a too-familiar voice, mocking him.  _Hurting him_.

“N-nnn!” Shiro tried to make it stop, but the man tightened his grip until the world slipped and someone was screaming but Shiro could feel the blackness come to claim him.

“I said get off him!” Keith snarled, shoving the man off of Shiro and chasing away the others who pressed in close to take their turn. He crouched by Shiro’s side, cupping his head and frantically calling for him. “Are you okay? C’mon, open your eyes. I’m sorry, Shiro, I’m sorry. You’re going to be okay.”

“I wasn’t done.” The man complained, dick still hanging from his unzipped pants.

“If you want to keep your cock where it is, then you’re done. Touch him again, I’ll cut it off and feed it to you.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Keith didn’t move from his spot, staring down the stranger over his shoulder. He shielded Shiro from view. The worst thing was that this was the easiest part. Keith had been in and out of fights since before the Garrison. It didn’t matter who his opponent was. If he didn’t walk away the victor, he sure as hell made sure that his enemies didn’t feel like they’d won.

But if Shiro was hurt, he didn’t know how he was going to fix it.

A moment stretched out between them, filled with vicious intent. The man turned away first, embarrassed and frustrated. The rest of the party was quickly getting the message. Keith remained tense until he was out of sight.

“Keith?” A soft ragged sound caught his attention, and he rounded on Shiro instantly, slowly rubbing his back as Shiro coughed into his fist. His eyes were bright and out of focus, his hands flexing weakly by his side, and Keith’s chest ached. He wrapped himself around his partner, holding him close as his pulse raced in his ears, everything moving so quickly he thought he was going to be ill. Slowly Shiro lifted his hand and fisted it in Keith’s shirt, weakly clinging before he whispered, “Can we go now?”

“Of course.” Keith held on tighter. “Anything.”

Keith didn’t remember how he got Shiro on his bike, or how he brought him home, but he remembered the emptiness at his back as Shiro slumped against the hoverbike’s harness. There was nothing quite like flying with dead weight.

The apartment was silent when they arrived, and Keith struggled to distract himself by helping Shiro to bed. He stripped him slowly and wiped away the worst of that evening with unsteady hands. Anything to beat back the fear that threatened to drag him under.

Keith should have known better. This was supposed to be fun. This was supposed to be easy. Shiro was never supposed to get hurt, and every time Keith caught a glimpse of the angry dark lines around his throat, something in his stomach twisted. He didn’t want to think about how similar they were to the marks he’d left behind.

Shiro was quiet and passive as Keith cleaned him up and led him back to the bedroom. He didn’t bother flicking on the lights, it was easier to hide his own guilt in the dark. The other man tumbled into the bed with a quiet sigh and Keith brushed his fingers through Shiro’s still damp hair, trailing his fingers down the side of his face where his skin still burned fever hot.

It had all spiraled out of control, he shouldn’t have pushed so hard. Shiro was willing to give him everything he asked for, why hadn’t that been enough. They could have stayed here like Shiro had suggested, but he’d needed more. He’d been so fixated on proving Lance wrong and making Shiro want him instead of being content.

He was too selfish. This was all a mistake.

“Just sleep, you’re going to be okay.” Keith promised and turned to leave. If he had any sense, he would never return. Shiro didn’t deserve this sort of grief, but cool metal closed around his wrist and held him fast. “Shiro?”

“Will you stay?” 

Shiro’s voice was hoarse and broken, like every word cost him too much. Keith knew he shouldn’t, he’d done nothing except screw up all night, but Shiro’s hand slid down to his and Keith let himself be slowly coaxed back. The bed creaked and dipped as he slid in beside Shiro, twisting as the other man curled protectively around him and nuzzled against the back of Keith’s neck with a relieved sigh. Even after everything, Shiro was still so gentle, like he was holding on to something precious. Keith had never spent the night with anyone before.

He never wanted to leave.


	5. Chapter 5

Shiro tipped his face up to the shower head, facing the almost too hot spray of water until he felt vaguely human again. His skin was already red from the heat, but the scalding water actually felt good on his tight, knotted muscles. 

 _Stupid_.

Even if he couldn’t remember all of the details from the night before, he knew enough to fill in the blanks. The story was written in every intimate ache and every bruise on his body. He’d been an idiot, again. He’d promised himself that he would stop doing this, unprotected sex with strangers was too risky and he’d been lucky he’d avoided trouble this far. If he didn’t stop, eventually that luck would run out. But give him a few drinks and all his determined plans went right out of the window. It was an easy way to let go and forget about things, which was all he’d wanted last night.

With a sigh, Shiro scrubbed his hand over his face and turned off the water, groping for a towel. He was going to have to go to get tested again. This had to be the last time. He was really going to change this time, he promised.

Shiro wiped the condensation off the bathroom mirror and glared at his reflection.  _No more fucking up, you know better than this. You’re better than this!_

The pep talk seemed to help and the shower had eased some of the aches on his protesting body. It still took him too long to reattach his prosthetic. He made sure it was hidden under a ratty sweatshirt before he could do anything else.

He slipped out of the bathroom and padded quietly back to the bedroom, bare feet almost silent against the cold hardwood floor. The lump still lay still in his sheets, wrapped up like a cranky mummy, and maybe everything wasn’t a total loss. Shiro grinned as he slid back into bed and wrapped Keith in a damp hug. 

“Good morning.”

Keith groaned, angrily trying to squirm out of Shiro’s grip, but all he managed to do was tangle himself in his blanket. Shiro shamelessly threw a leg over his hips and pinned him in place. Keith only squirmed harder. After far too much grunting and groaning, he blearily peeked out of his makeshift cocoon, too sleepy and soft to be a threat. “Where am I?”

“You spent the night,” Shiro laughed but there was a lump in his throat he had to swallow down. It was silly. Sometimes he still wasn’t sure where he stood with Keith, like he still needed to earn the right to be around him. Then his partner turned to him, brows furrowed as he carefully rested a hand on Shiro’s chest, right over his heart. There was an intensity in his gaze that silenced Shiro, as Keith took in the dark lines around his throat. Shiro knew. He’d already spent too much time looking at them.

“Are you okay?”

Keith couldn’t have been all the way awake, and the way he flinched whenever he glanced out the window probably meant he wanted to sleep for another ten years, but he slowly combed his fingers through Shiro’s damp hair. The expression on his face hurt to see. It was weighed down with too much concern, yet Shiro felt inexplicably lighter.

Shiro caught his hands gently and kissed him on the back of each, one at a time. When Keith slumped against him, it felt like victory. “I’m fine,” he promised. “Last night was just… A little intense.”

He felt Keith stiffen, heard the hitch in his breath, and for a second, Shiro wasn’t sure what he ought to do. Honesty had cost him dearly in the past.

“Hey.” Keith urged softly. “You can tell me.” But he didn’t push, and Shiro turned into him willingly, until Keith kissed the tip of his jaw, and everything came undone.

“It was good,” Shiro defended without needing to, and he wanted to be good, too. For Keith. “I liked it, I just don’t like being choked. It’s… It’s not good for me.”

“You don’t have to lie.” Keith drew him down and curled against Shiro’s still-wet chest. “I screwed up, I know. I just, I-I…I didn’t ever want to hurt you, Shiro.”

Shiro held a moment on his tongue before pressing a kiss to the side of Keith’s face. It had all gone too far and the worst of it was knowing that it hadn’t been the first time. He was going to change, they both were. “Some of it was good.” He said carefully. Though it had been a mistake, it wasn’t one that should be quickly dismissed like it hadn’t hurt. “I think that we just need to talk about what we’re okay with and what we’re not. I want to be more careful.”

“I’m not okay with hurting you or making you uncomfortable. I like you, Takashi.” Keith said his name in a quiet breath and felt Shiro go still beside him. Last night had been a rush better than any race, with just as many close calls and pitfalls. Keith had been so in control; Shiro only had eyes for him no matter what else was happening. Wanting him. Needing  _only_  him. Keith shook his head to clear the memory. He’d been so selfish.

“I like you too, Keith.” Shiro murmured with the same quiet reverence. “Can we just, maybe, slow down a bit?”

“Yes.” Keith was too eager to jump at the forgiveness, squeezing his eyes shut as he exhaled a shaky breath. There were no such things as relationships in his world, he fucked and got out. It had all been so easy and so simple, but nothing about Shiro was simple anymore. All his life, Keith had tried to be the one who left first so he wouldn’t be hurt, and now after all this time, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose Shiro. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again, he had to be better. “I think that I should make things up to you.”

He squirmed from Shiro’s arms with a tentative smile, as if Keith wasn’t sure he was allowed to joke again quite so soon. “I owe you that date you wanted.”

Shiro’s brows shot up like he couldn’t quite believe it, and he smiled like he was trying to find the joke in Keith’s statement. “What, now?”

And Keith might have been teasing, but he knew enough to recognize the hopefulness in Shiro’s tone. It made him more serious than he’d expected. “Yeah. Give me a bit. Pizza and a movie, and a whole day in.”

Shiro looked up at him with an indulgent smile. It meant enough that Keith wanted to stick around, that he wanted to make up for things, but he wasn’t holding his breath. “Pretty sure Hunk’s gonna need your help at the garage today.”

“He won’t even notice I’m gone.” Keith offered too readily, and he was the best sort of temptation.

“Keith, you really don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to.” Then he was leaning in and kissing the smile off Shiro’s mouth, turning it into something warmer and full of promise. “Just give me a minute, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

Keith sounded excited, and Shiro didn’t know how he’d gotten so far. The next minute he was on his couch, wrapped in too many blankets and watching Keith patter around his apartment. A flush of embarrassment had settled across his cheeks as Keith tried to find one of Shiro’s mugs that wasn’t chipped, his hair still wild and untamed. It was embarrassing enough that Shiro hadn’t had anything to drink in the house, and Keith had to go outside for coffee grounds; Shiro didn’t need his china judged, too. Eventually Keith gave up and flopped down on top of Shiro, leaving Shiro in charge of settling them into his nest.

“I can’t believe you.” Shiro laughed, taking his mug. “I just can’t believe you.”

“I know. That’s the third time you said it.” Yet Keith was pleased, and he spread himself on top of Shiro, eager to take up as much space as he could.

“It’s been a while.” Shiro snorted. “You might’ve missed it, but I’m not really dating material.”

Keith fixed him with an unimpressed stare, and Shiro ducked his head, on the wrong side of self-conscious until Keith tugged on the hem of his shirt, rubbing the collar between his fingers. “So what do you call this?”

Shiro froze.

And burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe you made a joke!”

“I can be funny.” Keith scowled, but there was no real heat to his words. It just made Shiro laugh harder and Keith tackled him, wiggling his fingers into the ticklish spaces between Shiro’s ribs. “I  _can!_  Why doesn’t anyone ever believe that?”

“I don’t know, I think you’re plenty funny.” Shiro grinned, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Looking!” Keith squawked and redoubled his attack as they grabbed pillows to up the ante in their fight. By the time the pizza arrived, they were both disheveled and giggling.

“Voila! Pizza, breakfast of champions.” Shiro flourished the box and set it on the coffee table, mouth already watering. “Seriously, greasy junk food for breakfast, I think I found my soulmate.”

“I literally have no idea how you eat like this and look like that.” Keith poked his friend in the stomach with a judgmental toe.  

“I dunno, I kind of got into the habit of working out every morning back in the Garrison. It’s sort of stuck with me.” He smiled almost wistfully, reliving better memories as his voice gentled. Those were good days, even if he’d been overwhelmed and exhausted at the time. The regiment helped and even on the days when Shiro could barely drag himself out of bed or face the idea of something as impossible as leaving the apartment, the training kicked in forcing him to move. On better days, it helped him feel steady, a piece of his life that was totally in his control and that he could always manage to complete, no matter how small.

“I’m not complaining.” Keith shoved his pizza into his face without even bothering to fold it and Shiro couldn’t help but tease him. After the night before, this was a quiet respite without expectations or demands. It was nice to let his walls down for once.

“Hey,” Shiro slid his cold bare feet under Keith’s ass as the other man yelped. “Last night with what happened…” He could feel Keith tense, the easy mood suddenly brittle like it could break with the wrong word. “I have some ideas about how to do it next time.”

Keith set his pizza down and stared. “You want to do it again?”

“Maybe, depends on what it is.” Shiro tried to find a way to explain. There wasn’t an easy etiquette manual for discussing BDSM techniques over breakfast. “I’ve done stuff before, I uh-, I kind of like some of it. I should have been clearer with what I don’t, I’m sorry. You couldn’t have known.”

Keith was quiet for a long time, watching him with too wide eyes, and Shiro wasn’t sure if he was getting ready to bolt or not. Then he sighed, and curled closer, leaning heavily against the couch. “I could’ve known. I could’ve asked.”

There was less than a foot between them, but Shiro wanted it to be gone.

“And I could’ve told you.” He said readily enough. Another reassurance danced on the tip of Shiro’s tongue. He would always claim to want to explain his lapses of judgement, but even the best explanation felt like an excuse. Keith ought to know that it always felt so good to let go, that sometimes Shiro didn’t feel like himself unless something soothed the nerves that screamed beneath his skin. He hadn’t felt like himself for a long time. Instead he cleared his throat and managed a smile, and offered Keith another slice of pizza. “I think the most important thing is to know when to stop. Sometimes- there are people who don’t get that.”

That one had been Shiro’s fault, too, he thought wryly. He never did learn his lesson. He didn’t expect Keith to go still.

“Anyone I know?”

Shiro scowled, trying to make heads or tails of Keith’s question. “What?”

“Were they anyone I know? I have a hoverbike, and I need target practice.” Keith said in a matter-of-fact tone, and the audacity of it made Shiro burst out laughing.

“Don’t get sent to jail on my behalf,” Shiro admonished, and wiped his greasy fingers on Keith’s shirt before twining his arms around the other man’s waist. The racer huffed in annoyance, but he let Shiro move him into his lap, tilting his head back to give Shiro more room as he pressed kisses along the base of his neck.

Keith didn’t make any promises. The thought of someone hurting Shiro burned inside of him, caustic and bitter. It mixed uneasily with his own guilt, and the realization that he’d dredged up unhappy memories. Hitting someone with the Renegade suited him just fine. “Only if they catch me.”

“Ah yes, because you’re very subtle.” Shiro said with a straight face. “The subtle-ist. How would anyone ever guess it was you, the mystery will remain unsolved forever.”

“You’re such an ass.” He was laughing again, leaning into Shiro’s space with feigned outrage.

“Takes one to know one.”

 

* * *

 

Hunk looked up as Keith walked into the garage, throwing up his arms. “Dude,  _FINALLY_! I’ve been here by myself all day and I haven’t even had a break because I was the only one working. What if someone came in? We don’t have enough customers for us to miss one and I haven’t even had lunch. I haven’t even peed, it’s been like five hours! I’m gonna burst like a water balloon, can you die from not peeing?” He danced from foot to foot as Keith dropped his bag on the work bench.

“So go?”

Hunk was gone before the words were out of his mouth.

By the time Hunk got back, Keith had already elbow-deep in motorbike guts and was taking a look at the work. He slid over towards his partner, looming over Keith from behind. Keith didn’t notice and when he turned around, they both shrieked.

“Dude! Oh god, I think I’m going to pee again.” Hunk wrapped his arms around his stomach.

“Well, don’t  _loom_.”

“I wasn’t looming, I was just looking. You have to learn the difference between looming and looking. You’ll probably start accusing me of lurking next. That’s a lot of l-word accusations there. Why aren’t we accusing you of stuff, where the heck have you even been?”

“Out.” The answer was evasive, but Hunk could see right through him and elbowed Keith suggestively in the ribs.

“Out, mmhmm, okay. If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine.” Hunk lied through his teeth. “No, but seriously, tell me. I don’t remember the last time you were in this good of a mood.”

“What about the time I won that grand prix with the Razor bike and came home with the grand prize?”

“Okay, I don’t remember the last time you were in this good a mood that didn’t involve smashing all of my hard work into tiny little pieces. Out with it, things actually go well with whats-his-face?”

“Shiro,” Keith corrected, and it was a testament to how well he was feeling that he didn’t snap. He caught himself smiling at the innards of his project, and even when he tried to force it down, it found a way to sneak back. Keith wasn’t even as annoyed as he was supposed to be. “It’s - he’s…”

The simple truth of it all struck Keith then, overwhelming in its honesty. He had to put down his wrench as his heart did something funny, jumping just a little too quickly and sending his pulse racing through his veins. “He’s a good guy, Hunk. I like him. I think I really like him.”

It was exciting and new, and Keith wasn’t sure he’d ever been this way with anyone before. It felt a little like walking on thin ice, or those first few moments after a race started, in the blink between the battle of momentum and inertia. Except Keith was already at the finish line, and it already felt like he’d won. He’d left Shiro tucked into his couch, surrounded by blankets. He’d been given one final sleepy goodbye, a kiss that hadn’t even met its mark, but Keith kept touching his cheek like he could still feel the shadow of Shiro’s touch. He thought that maybe waking up wrapped in his arms again wouldn’t be terrible.

Hunk was smiling at him. Keith huffed on principle, but he was losing his edge if that only made Hunk grin wide.

“Aww, Keith has a crush.”

“We’ve been dating for weeks, Hunk.”

“Yeah, but that’s so embarrassing.” With the way Keith was smiling, he had to admit it was pretty embarrassing.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, tried to get his thoughts in order, but it felt like he’d left the best parts of him in a tiny, ratty old apartment, tucked under blankets he wished he was still hiding beneath. Today Keith learned that Shiro liked loud action flicks and cheered when the dog survived an alien invasion. It was a lot to take in.

“How do you do this? How do you want to be with someone, and how do you keep them and-?” he started, lapsed into silence and tried again. Keith had never been so vulnerable, and he didn’t know how anyone could. It was terrifying. “I messed up big last night. It was bad, Hunk, but he still wants to be with me, and I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Was he drinking?” Hunk asked. The lack of humor in his question surprised Keith, forced him to do a double take.

“Not when he forgave me.” Keith said slowly, but it was impossible not to think back to how easily Shiro reached for a bottle, or the night before when everything had come undone. “I don’t want to hurt him again.”

“Do you think you will?”

Keith’s first reaction was bristling defense, the denial already on his lips before he forced it back. Criticism always stung, he’d never learned to take it gracefully and even though he’d asked for it, he could feel the excuses already starting to build in his chest like a wall. It was one thing to worry, another to hear someone actually say it out loud. He settled on honesty, a strange and unfamiliar choice that he seemed to be making more often. “I don’t know.”

Hunk looked serious, which made Keith’s stomach knot. “You’re a good guy.” He said, which felt like he was just trying to soften the blow. “But you push people sometimes. Too far.”

Keith bit down on the objection hard enough to draw blood on the inside of his lip. It wouldn’t be fair to deny it, that had always been his problem. If everyone was going to abandon him in the end, what was the harm in saving himself the grief and speeding up the process?

“He does a pretty good job of keeping up.”

“Does he? Or is it the drinking? Keith, a guy like that has problems. You’re the one who said he got into a fight the first time you met and that he drinks too much. You’re riding on the edge already, what do you think is going to happen if he pushes you off?”

“He wouldn’t do that!” Keith couldn’t keep the hostility form his voice. It was hard enough listening to his own faults, but Shiro didn’t deserve any of this. “He’d never hurt me, that’s just not who he is. Yeah, so maybe he drinks sometimes, but he’s smart and kind and gentle.”

“Until he makes a mistake and he isn’t.” Hunk said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m surprised you haven’t killed yourself already sometimes, one mistake is all it takes to cost you everything.”

“That’s only with racing.”

“It’s with everything you do, dude! And if he’s not the one to shove you off the edge, what if you’re the one to do it to him? He’s clearly a guy with issues and you know how you can be with people. What happens when he can’t keep up with you? What if he breaks himself trying?”

“I-I, that’s not…” Doubts crowded around him, dragging him down to slump under their weight. “You think I should end it.”

Hunk put a hand on Keith’s shoulder, drawing the other man close. As big and powerful as he was, Hunk radiated comfort and was never shy about sharing it. Keith let himself be drawn in, miserably. “I think it’s a good thing that you like someone. I like you, Keith, and I like Shiro too, I’ve never seen you actually serious about someone before. Just be careful?”

“He’s good to me.” Keith admitted. There was a tremor in his voice that surprised him, more vulnerable than he was ready to be, and far too honest for his liking. “I don’t want to lose him.”

Hunk squeezed, and it was a little too much, a little too strong. Keith found he was okay with that. “Like I said, dude. Careful. I don’t think that’s… Something you’re overly good at, but give it a shot?”

Keith snorted, but he didn’t tell Hunk that he would try. He wanted to. Shiro would be worth it.

 

* * *

 

“… And that should make controlling your thrusters easier, for a more stable turn. You won’t have to sacrifice too much speed, but you’re less likely to end up flipping over,” Shiro said, his voice muffled from where he was bent over the Renegade’s hood. It was warm out. Shiro’d finally caved and shucked his leather jacket off, leaving him in a soft long-sleeved Henley that hid his arms but plastered against his chest. 

Keith wasn’t complaining. Keith was the opposite of complaining. He lounged on an empty steel drum, counting the muscles he saw ripple whenever Shiro reached for another tool. There was no one else around to see him anyway. They were in a quiet spot just outside the city, a large empty field with nothing but weeds for miles. It was the perfect place for a test drive.

They’d been at it for weeks, testing and modifying the ‘Gade until it was as close to perfection as human hands could take her, hyperbole notwithstanding. Keith remembered the first time Shiro had come over to work at the garage, and how Hunk had hemmed and hawed about letting anyone else around his babies. It had lasted for all of five minutes. Shiro’d come with lunch, and a fancy degree in Aviation Tech. Now no one bat an eye whenever they decided to take their project out for a spin, and every victory won felt all the sweeter.

Shiro stood up, wiping his brow on his forearm, and leaving a smear of grease in its place. Keith choked on his soda. “What do you think?”

“You don’t want to hear what I’m thinking.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow in confusion and stole the bottle of soda out of his hands. Keith let him just to see him Shiro tip it back and the way his throat moved when he swallowed. If Shiro had noticed that all the drinks in the cooler were alcohol-free, he hadn’t brought it up.

 _Damn_ , this was both unfair and awe inspiring. Even though Keith couldn’t manage it himself, knowing that everything on display was all  _his_  made things slightly better.

The taller man dropped the bottle by the cooler and stretched, hiding a smile where Keith wouldn’t see. He liked it this way. His body was scarred and broken. The burns covered most of his skin, leaving tight shiny patches and pits that never had healed. What was left of his arm was almost entirely scar tissue leading down to the shiny metal and intricate machine parts that slid silently over each other every time he moved. When Shiro looked in the mirror, all he could see was a broken ruin of the man he used to be. 

But he was still lean, still toned, and as long as that was all Keith saw, it worked wonders. When he caught himself in Keith’s eyes, it took his breath away. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been wanted like this before, and Shiro couldn’t help if it his shirts were a little too tight.

“Why, is it that bad?”

Keith huffed and resisted the urge to take a bite out of Shiro’s side. “We’re out here to test engines, not get grass stains on your ass.”

“Who says we can’t do both. I can rev your engines and then rev  _your_ engines, if you know what I mean.” He laughed at his own joke and Keith rolled his eyes fondly.

“Shiro, I think everybody knows what you mean. You’re the least subtle person I know.”

With a wink, Shiro poked Keith in the middle of his forehead. “That’s because when I’m subtle, it goes right over your head. I don’t want you to misunderstand me, I take a lot of pride in making the right jokes and puns.”

“They’re terrible.” Keith deadpanned.

“Nailed it!” Shiro was delighted, which just made him infuriatingly more attractive. There was no way to win. “And by it, I mean y-”

“Shiro, no!”

Shiro was still laughing when a tiny ice cube bounced off his forehead, and Keith didn’t look the slightest bit sorry. He was already armed with more chips, sitting strategically in front of the cooler to protect the rest of his ammo. But Shiro’s smirk was wicked.

“Oh you’re going to get it.”

“You talk big, Shirogane. Can you back it up?”

Then Shiro was on him, tackling him to the ground, and the cooler went flying. They fought dirty and reckless, tickling with no mercy. Keith was laughing so hard he could’ve knocked himself out, until Shiro scooped him into his arms and kissed him into the dirt. The wild grass was long and itchy and poked in all sorts of uncomfortable places, but all Keith could think about was rolling Shiro beneath him and kissing him senseless. Then he didn’t want to stop.

Shiro’s hands were in his hair, his long legs bracketing Keith’s side, Keith didn’t know how being held down could make him feel so much like flying, but Shiro had a way of making it happen. They pushed each other hard, always eager for more, but it was more tender than anything Keith ever had. It was terrifyingly easy to reach out now, and Keith didn’t know when it had started, but he learned to expect Shiro to be there more often than not. They hadn’t been to another party since that night, but they found other ways to enjoy each other’s company and Keith wasn’t complaining. He liked it when Shiro watched him race, and he liked it more when Shiro watched him win, but he liked the quiet nights they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms doing nothing at all and everything in between. Hunk knew him now. Shiro was a familiar figure around the garage, helping where he could even if it just meant picking up lunch and making sure Keith stuck around until the end of his shift. There was a strange sort of satisfaction that came with knowing Hunk liked Shiro, too.

As long as Shiro stayed there, Keith could be happy. Keith wanted to be happy.

Why couldn’t he just be satisfied with happy?

“You gonna take it for a spin, Takashi? Before I let you drive this elite piece of equipment, I want to see how you handle that one.” Keith flopped a hand at the Renegade, enjoying the way Shiro’s eyes sparked with excitement. He couldn’t help but push, just a little. Especially when Shiro pushed back.

“You’d better be careful, once I get going, I’ll leave you in the dust.”

“Bring it.”

Shiro kissed Keith again, stealing the laughter from his lips before pushing himself up to his feet and brushing the off the dirt. He shrugged the leather jacket on, much to Keith’s disappointment, and swung himself over the Renegade’s seat. It was fair to say he looked good straddling that much power, running his hands over the controls like he was born to them.

He could have been among the stars, even now it was clear that Shiro was meant for something better than any of this. The training and skill were evident in every move of his body and how he kicked on the Renegade’s engines, letting the bike hover with an almost grace. Keith was all sharp edges and fast corners, but watching Shiro, he wished he had a fraction of that same control.

The blast from the engines felt like a punch to his chest, almost knocking Keith off his feet. He whooped at the top of his lungs as Shiro put the Renegade through its paces, zigzagging across the field and turning on a dime, testing out the new stabilizers and pushing the machine to its limits.

Remembering the first time they raced, Keith could’ve laughed at his arrogance. Shiro was some hell of a rider. Not for the first time, Keith thought about racing against him. Thought about how good it’d feel, how sharp the adrenaline rush would cut through his veins with the fear of knowing Shiro was only a hairs breadth behind him - or ahead. It was hard to say, but he liked his partner stretched over his bikes. Any way he could have him.

He didn’t realize something had gone wrong until it was too late.

Shiro stalled at first, going into a turn a little slower than Keith would’ve liked, but Keith had a problem with slowing down in general. Except Shiro didn’t come out of it. The Renegade buckled unsteady, and then it was falling, tipping into the dirt with a screech of metal that echoed through Keith’s skull.

That was when Keith realized it was a thousand times easier to be on the other end of a crash.

The Renegade was in one piece, but Keith would’ve torn it apart if it meant getting to its driver. Shiro was curled against the steering wheel, his safety harness dug painfully into his shoulders. No matter how loudly Keith called, he wouldn’t respond.

Shiro couldn’t breathe. Unseen coils curled tightly around his throat. They wound beneath his skin and choked the air out of his lungs, digging into him like teeth, and Shiro didn’t know how to tear them off, but he didn’t dare try. It didn’t matter that he’d crashed. It felt like the ground was slipping beneath him, pitching him forward with sickening speed, and all he could do was hold on, even as metal crumpled beneath his prosthetic and his stomach lurched painfully. He couldn’t stop shaking, like there were ants where his nerves ought to be, leaving him sick and scared, so goddamn scared as a bitter chill crawled up his spine and settled over his skin. It was cold, it was so goddamn cold  _make it stop please make it all stop he needed to pull up Shiro pull up!_

The engines were failing and gravity had caught them, hurtling them out of the sky. The hull of the ship glowed a bright red as the heated managed to filter into the cabin until Shiro felt like his skin was on fire and there wasn’t enough oxygen to drag into his lungs. There were too many alarms, they blared and flashed across the dashboard in cascading failures as he frantically tried to keep up.

He could barely hear the screaming over the sirens. Matt’s hand was on his shoulder, fingers digging hard into the bone as he shouted something in his hear, but it was lost. They were coming in too fast, they weren’t going to be able to make it. They were all going to die and it was his fault, it was his fault!”

“SHIRO!”

With a jolt, the world slammed back into place and he stared up into Keith’s worried face. Every breath was a ragged gasp and sweat slid down his skin as he shoved Keith away harder than he meant to and send the other man flying. Panic beat inside of him like a living thing, twisting and clawing inside of his ribs until he felt sick.

Keith picked himself off the dirt and crouched by the side of the Renegade so he wasn’t crowding into Shiro’s space anymore. This was new, he’d never seen Shiro break down before and he had no idea how to help draw him back. They were too far away to call for help, would the Renegade be able to get them to a hospital? Could he wrestle the controls away from Shiro’s hands?

“You’re okay, buddy.” Keith said in a low voice. “You’re okay, just keep breathing. You’ve gotta come back to me, I don’t know how to help you. Please, Shiro. You have to be okay.”

But Shiro wouldn’t even look at him, curling in on himself like he had any hope of escaping his demons. No, no, no, he muttered, so softly Keith couldn’t make out the words. Shiro was haunted by demons Keith couldn’t see and couldn’t know, less than a foot away but impossible to reach, and Keith did know what to do. He listened to Shiro’s voice break under the strain of his fear, but there was nothing he knew how to do and nothing he dared try.

 _I should call for help. I should get you out of here._ But Keith never did. He never thought himself a coward, yet trapped between his ignorance and hopelessness, he didn’t think there was anything else he could be.

The minutes dragged on, too fast and too slow all at once. It stopped as abruptly as it started, so suddenly that Shiro was still afraid to breathe. Even as the pressure around his rib cage eased and the pain in his sides abetted, he imagined their grip weighing him down. He swiped at his face angrily, trying to hide the tear tracks that stained his cheeks. Shiro hated the attacks, hated them for being so quick and consuming, hated himself worse for never knowing how to stop them. It felt like he’d been carved open and hollowed out, everything he’d tried to rebuild from the last attack. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He didn’t want to feel anymore.

He heard Keith move closer and didn’t want to look up. A rush of nausea washed over him, and he didn’t want this now, didn’t want to fight, didn’t want anyone to see him. He didn’t want Keith to know how bad it could be.

“The ‘Gade’s fine. No error readings.” He forced his voice steady, fused steel out of air as he fumbled with the safety harness. He didn’t know if the throbbing in his shoulders was new or not. The back of his eyes burned, and Shiro didn’t want to fall apart again, but he forced himself to read the bike’s console. If he could pretend to be all right, maybe that would be enough to sell it, but Keith wasn’t playing.

“I don’t care about the ‘Gade,” he whispered. Shiro flinched anyway, before sinking into his seat. He still couldn’t get the harness’s lower belt off. He was so tired of trying.

“Not now, Keith.” He pleaded. “Please not now.” But Shiro didn’t know what he was asking for. He just hoped he never had to face it.

“Are you okay?”

“I just need to go home.” Shiro wouldn’t look at him, hands still trembling slightly. When Keith reached out to him, he jerked away with a snarl and Keith flinched. “I need to go home  _now_.”

“Okay, buddy, okay. I’ll get you home, Shiro.”

Hunk came to the rescue, dropping off his car and swapping out to stay in the field to fix the Renegade as Keith drove Shiro home. They didn’t talk the entire ride, letting the awkward silence settle between them until Keith felt like it was strangling him. He snuck looks at Shiro, trying his best to be subtle. His friend looked drawn and terribly pale, the slight sheen of sweat still glistening around his temples.

Shiro didn’t invite him up to his apartment, but that didn’t stop Keith from trying. “I can stay if you want me to, it’s no big deal.”

“I’m fine, Keith. I need to be alone right now, I’ll call you later.” Humiliation was even worse than the actual attack. He’d been doing so well dealing with the panic and the fear until he felt almost normal. It had knocked the legs out from under him and shaken Shiro’s confidence to the core. No matter what he did or how much progress he made, he couldn’t hold it together. He was too weak and afraid, and now Keith had seen everything, all the ugliest pieces of himself he’d tried so hard to hide. Nothing would ever go back to the way things were again. Either it would scare Keith off and rightfully so, or every time Keith looked at him, all Shiro would see was the pity, waiting for the next inevitable breakdown.

“Please, Shiro. I can try to help or something. I won’t get in the way.”

“I said no.” The door thunked close in Keith’s face, leaving him alone out in the hallway with nothing but his guilt. Cursing himself for his own stupidity, Keith retreated, helpless to do anything to fix this mess.

Text messages piled up, phone calls went unanswered. Even when Hunk told him to give Shiro space, Keith still found himself staring at his blank screen, trying to will the messages to appear. Anything to show that his friend was alright. But all his pushing just gave him the same answer.

_I can’t make it tonight, sorry. I’m not feeling well._


	6. Chapter 6

Keith tightened one of the bolts in the Renegade’s engine, and wiped grease from the gleaming metal. The airflow intake design wasn’t anything like he’d seen before, but Hunk’s new ideas always seemed to work out. They were practical, innovative, and actually pretty. Not only would the Renegade run more efficiently, it would look damn good while doing it. Besides, they needed the edge.

The last few races had been close, but even with throwing caution to the wind and pushing the hoverbike to its absolute limits, he hadn’t been able to win. Second place wasn’t worth anything and the cash from a win could come in handy. At least Shiro hadn’t been there to watch. Keith didn’t know if he was more disappointed his good luck charm hadn’t shown up or glad that Shiro didn’t have to watch him fail.

They hadn’t talked about what happened. Every time Keith tried to bring it up, Shiro brushed it off and changed the subject until Keith finally dropped it. There was something going on behind Shiro’s honest smile, an unspoken pain that Keith couldn’t reach.

It terrified him.

He wasn’t supposed to care so much, that had always been the point. Shiro had somehow crawled beneath his skin with gentle hands and a wicked mouth and the worst sense of humor Keith had ever heard. He’d chipped away at all of Keith’s walls until there was no defense against his charm, but it came with a throat clenching fear.

There was no way to save Shiro, none that he knew of. Shiro was hurting and there was no way to stop it.

“Dude.” Hunk snapped his fingers in Keith’s face. “You’re not helping. Can you hold the light steady at least?”

Keith caught himself staring at the same spot before physically shaking himself and adjusting his grip on the overhead detail light. “Sorry.” Hunk didn’t look annoyed, but he was certainly less than thrilled, a little indent of concern creasing his brow. “What’s the rush? We’re almost done.”

“You’re not the only one with places to be, dude.” Hunk threw back. “It’d be nice to not have to think about this for lunch.”

“Why?” Keith repeated, but he already knew the answer, and his expression soured. “You’re meeting Lance.”

It made him sound both petty and disturbed, and there were too many boundaries that he was crossing, but a stab of bitterness crawled up his throat like bile. It was too late for Keith to turn back now. Hunk was wearing a look that said he wanted to be anywhere but here. “Keith quit it.”

“He’s kind of a jerk.”

“So?” Hunk said defensively. “You’re kind of a jerk most of the time too.”

“But I’m not using you.” Keith snapped. “There’s only one reason he’s after you so much, and he’s a giant fucking pain in the ass.”

“There’s only  _one_  reason - dude, I’m not doing this today. Okay? I just wanna work.” Hunk countered, but his shoulders were drawn up to his ears, and Keith knew what he’d said struck his mark. Good. He didn’t want to hurt Hunk, but he couldn’t let Lance keep screwing him over.

“Just because you don’t wanna hear it, doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“This really isn’t gonna get us done in the next ten minutes.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

If there was one thing Keith loathed, it was being cornered. Lance had an innate ability to make anything a thousand times worse.

“You were just leaving.” Keith said shortly, giving Hunk a pointed look. “We’re busy working, no one wants you here.”

“I’d say one person wants me here and he’s the only one who really matters.” Lance drawled, jumping up to sit on his favorite spot on the workbench. He watched Hunk carefully, but the big man didn’t gesture for him to go, so Lance made himself right at home.

Keith was enraged. “You know he’s not supposed to be here. He’s just a distraction!”

“He’s coming to take me out to lunch, so it’s fine.” As nice as he was, even Hunk’s patience was running thin. “Why don’t you man the front of the shop until I get back, it won’t be that long.”

“Absolutely not! Your job is here, not off wasting time with some-”

“Keith!” There was something hard in Hunk’s voice that made Keith’s mouth snap shut. “I’ve been here every day, working on new designs, building out your racers, and still handling our normal workload while you’ve been off who knows where. You’re barely here and when you are, you’re not really  _here_. I get to take an hour off for lunch, it’s your turn to watch the shop.”

Lance sneered, arms crossed over his chest as he plucked out each complaint Hunk was too nice to say and drove them all home with the precision of a needle. “You’re a selfish asshole who only thinks about themselves and I’m done with you taking advantage of Hunk. He deserves way better than this.”

With a snarl, Keith shoved into Lance’s space, the two young men glowering at each other. “You stay out of this.”

“Like hell I will. Hunk’s my best friend and I’m not going to let you treat him like this anymore. He should leave your ass and find a job where they actually appreciate him as an equal partner instead of running off chasing whatever stupid reckless adrenaline junkie thing that gets you off.”

Keith didn’t realize his hands had balled into fists until he was swinging them, but Lance had already moved to block him. Keith never connected. Hunk shoved them apart before either knew what was happening. Sometimes it felt like Hunk was the only one with his head on straight.

“Enough!” He snapped, and Lance rounded on him instead, spitting venom and trembling with rage.

“He was going to hit me! That sonofabitch was going to hit me!” He said, like he hadn’t been just as ready to throw down too, but Hunk glared, putting himself between them both like he could be enough to stop them. For a second there, Keith wasn’t sure he would be.

“That’s it! No more fighting! Lance, come on, drop it. We’re getting out of here.” Hunk was angrier than Keith had ever seen him, and the look he sent Keith made him feel all of two feet all. Hunk had no qualms bodily dragging his boyfriend to the office where he kept his things. Lance dragged his feet at first, but by the time they were heading to the exit, he had his arm wrapped possessively around Hunk’s waist, radiating smugness as they walked out the door. Keith couldn’t stand either one of them.

He snarled, kicking at the Renegade’s frame, but there was no one to hear him.

Hunk was back in under an hour, but it was already too late. By then, Keith and the Renegade were halfway across town.

Keith was… itchy. Incapable of slowing down, jittering with tension. Electricity crackled beneath his skin, racing from the tips of his fingers to the center of his chest until he was sure his heart was too big for his rib cage. Keith barely watched where he was going, driving down alleys and across traffic levels. The taste of copper stained the back of his teeth.

He should’ve crashed. He could’ve, a thousand different times, but he didn’t, and it felt like a right the world owed him.

He took the stairs to Shiro’s apartment two at a time, not even breaking a sweat. He could still feel the Gade’s engine rumbling beneath him, and nothing would slow him down. Or so he thought.

There was a stranger standing in front of Shiro’s apartment. He had nice shoes and a nice watch, but that mattered less than the harshness of his stance. Military always did stand a certain way. He turned to stare before Keith had reached the floor landing, brown eyes shielded behind thick glasses, and it was unnerving. Keith almost considered turning around, but that felt like losing, and Keith never backed down from a challenge.

He crossed his arms, slouching down to glare at the newcomer and wondering what he wanted from Shiro. In all the time they’d known each other, Shiro hadn’t mentioned anyone else. At least no one except a few slips about an ex that still made Keith’s blood boil.

“Hey.” Mr. Military pushed his glasses up and gave Keith a look. “You’re here to see Shiro?”

“Yeah. He’s not home?”

“Well, he’s not answering.” The man said, sounding unconvinced. “Though I think he’s just trying to avoid me.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Not like I’m surprised.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Why, what did you do to him?”

“Huh?” The stranger blinked owlishly behind his lenses. “Nothing, we’re old friends. My name’s Matt, we were roommates back in the Garrison. Our friend Allura wanted me to check in on him.” Matt paused to see if the names meant anything, but Keith just glowered back at him.

“Either he’s out or he doesn’t want to see you, seems like that’s pretty clear to me.” Keith snapped and Matt seemed startled.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I’m here trying to help. If you’re a friend of Shiro’s, then you know he’s been having a hard time lately. Everyone’s worried about him, I just want to make sure he’s okay and see if I can help him out a little bit.”

There was something about the clean-cut military man that rubbed Keith the wrong way. He looked too confident, too self-assured like he was going to swoop in out of nowhere and decide that Shiro needed to change. No wonder Shiro was trying to avoid him. Keith bristled, his own spine stiffening like he could match Matt’s discipline. Some Garrison brat who thought he was so much better than everyone else, it was written write across his face. If he was a real friend, why hadn’t he been here earlier? “Well, I guess he doesn’t need your help.”

“Why don’t you leave and let me handle this?” Matt’s voice hardened. “Clearly, this isn’t your business.”

“Shiro  _is_  my business. So why don’t you go back to wherever you came from and leave us the hell alone.” Keith gave Matt a mocking salute. “Sir.”

Matt sputtered indignantly, and it filled Keith with a vicious sense of satisfaction. It was almost laughably easy to dislike him.

“Who are you?” He demanded, just as Keith decided he would never like him.

“That’s none of your fucking business either.” But in his pocket, his phone quietly alerted him of an incoming message, and Keith turned the way he came with an exaggeratedly careless shrug. “Stay away from Shiro. Or don’t. It’s not like you’ll get to see him anyway.”

It felt like victory, even if Keith didn’t know if he was feeling more petty or cruel, but he took the stairs two at a time, only pausing a floor down to read his text.

_Shiro: Meet me at the gade_

If Keith hadn’t been buzzing before, he was now. By the time he hit the garage, Shiro was slinging himself over the bike, stretched across it with aching familiarity. It was a good sight. Keith didn’t have any doubts, but if he'd had any, they’d be long gone by now.

“You trying to steal my bike?”

“There’s no trying about it. You’ve got six seconds before I take off without you,” Shiro threw over his shoulder. He was smiling too wide for it to be entirely sincere, but when Keith came closer, he reached for him, tilting up his helmet and eagerly pulling him into a sloppy, desperate kiss that lasted too long and nowhere near long enough. Keith couldn’t get on fast enough. Nothing settled him better than having Shiro wrapped around him, his strong arms tight around Keith’s waist. It was easy to lose himself like this, easy to forget everyone and everything that clawed at his nerves. Shiro was his now, and Shiro wanted him, and nothing could matter as much, but Keith couldn’t bite his tongue fast enough.

“Who was that guy?” Keith asked, and Shiro squeezed him tighter.

“No one.” Shiro rasped, warm against his back. “No one, just go.”

“Where?”

“ _Anywhere.”_

Keith was more than happy to oblige.

Shiro pressed kisses to the back of Keith’s neck, the reek of alcohol almost sharp enough to burn and Keith drank him down. It spurred him on, laughing out their challenge to the world as they lost their troubles in the roar of the Renegade’s engine.

This was Keith’s element, the razor’s edge between speed and suicide where the smallest mistake would end in disaster. He was alive like this, heart racing and adrenaline jangling through his nerves as the world blurred passed. You couldn’t rely on people, they always let you down and abandoned you. You couldn’t rely on friends or family, you couldn’t trust anyone to follow through. But in this moment, the only thing he needed to rely on was his own skills and that was enough. It was absolute control and he lived for this.

The Renegade pitched to the side as they threaded between two cars, weaving in and out of traffic just inches from the other speeding cars. Horns blared, but Keith just revved the engine, squeezing every drop of speed from the hoverbike.

“Keith!” Shiro’s voice sounded far away, the wind stealing the words and whipping them away into the roar. His arms tightened around Keith’s waist as they squeezed between two trucks, the space between them barely enough for the hoverbike to maneuver.

There was no stopping, this was freedom! Even a race was too constrained, there were too many rules, the roads were too empty, the price of failure was too low. Keith’s grin was sharp as a knife as he blasted out of the lane and into oncoming traffic, narrowly missing a head on collision as he swooped around a slower moving car.

“Keith, STOP!” Shiro bellowed into his ear.

Never.

Keith sped down the highway, thrumming with the purr of his engine. Where they were going didn’t matter. What they were doing didn’t either. Every plan was half settled at best, and all he cared for was finding the next challenge to overcome, the next obstacle to destroy. He didn’t expect Shiro to reach around him and wrench away control. The hoverbike turned in a graceless arch, nearly toppling over before Shiro regained his bearings, and Keith snarled, slamming on the breaks. Their harnesses dug sharply into their shoulders, keeping them in place, but Keith felt like part of him was still flying. 

They almost crashed into the asphalt. 

“What are you doing?!” He snapped in both outrage and concern. It was dangerous to disrupt a driver. Shiro could’ve been seriously hurt, but Keith was surprised to see Shiro so worried. In the distance, he could hear the ringing of police sirens, and Shiro’s expression hardened.

“We’re stopping.”

“No.”

“Keith-”

“ _No._ ”

“Just get us out of here.” Shiro sighed softly, scrubbing a hand down his face, but the other one remained tight around Keith’s middle, where it belonged. That was good enough for now. Keith would make sure they were never caught. He took them out of the city, weaving through alley ways and scaling buildings with laughable ease. It was a quiet ending to an incredible start, but Shiro had gone quiet behind him. As they touched down on the far end of the docks, Keith assumed the worst had passed.

Of all the ways he could’ve reacted, Keith never thought Shiro would lash out.

“What the Hell were you thinking?!”

Keith was immediately on the defensive, arms crossed over his chest and feeling backed into a corner. “I got you out of there, just like you asked me to. What’s the problem?”

“Are you crazy? You could have died! Hell, you could have killed someone else, we almost smashed into that car.” Shiro rubbed his metal hand across his face and closed his eyes, trying to get the ground to stop pitching beneath his feet. He felt sick, the woozy feel of alcohol only adding to the disorientation. He’d wanted to escape, but not like this. His stomach felt like it had been left behind and Shiro muffled a groan.

“Oh, so now you’re complaining about the bike being too fast? You weren’t whining about it before.”

“You weren’t driving it in traffic before! There’s reckless and there’s just stupid, Keith. What would you have done if you crashed and someone was hurt? A race is one thing, but down a busy street in the middle of the day? It’s too much.”

Keith huffed irritably. “You’re worrying too much, it was fine. I wasn’t going to crash.”

“And one little mistake could have ended everything!” Shiro yelled.

“I don’t make mistakes.”

“Everyone makes mistakes! If anything happened to you, what would the people who cared about you think?” Shiro tried to find a way to make Keith understand. If he refused to care about himself, then maybe he would care about those who were left behind.

“No one cares.” Keith laughed, a sharp contrast to Shiro’s fervor. He turned back to the bike like he could shut down that anger, focusing instead on how a bad landing had struck the Renegade. "Whatever. It was just fun, it doesn’t matter. Stop being such a-”

"It matters to me!” He turned and Shiro was so close. Keith could see the frustration that pinched his brow and darkened his cheeks in uneven splotches. He was taller, broader, but Shiro had never used that to his advantage like this. His hands were shaking where he boxed Keith in. It would’ve been too easy to break out of his grasp, and yet Keith didn’t want to. He never did. “It matters to me because I love you. And I don’t wanna lose you, why do you… Dammit Keith, why do you do this?”

“Shiro…” Keith reached up, gently cupping the other man’s face, trying to draw him in closer. Everything felt too still, like Shiro had stolen his heart out of his rib cage, and the air from his lungs, leaving Keith hollow and defenseless. Shiro shook his head and tried to look away, but Keith brought him back with a tender hand, and Shiro’s shoulders slumped in quiet surrender.

“Why isn’t this enough?”

Shiro couldn’t say what  _this_ was. He didn’t know if it was what they had, or the fragile peace that lingered in their moment. But he couldn’t stand to lose Keith, hated that one wrong turn could end everything he held dear. He tried to be supportive, tried to show Keith that winning didn’t always have to be so reckless, and he understood that Keith was good. Keith was the best he’d seen in a long, long time, but there were lines Keith crossed that Shiro couldn’t, and sometimes it terrified him.

“You love me?” Keith whispered, drawing him in. He wrapped himself around Shiro, tucking himself against his side like they’d done too many times before, but Shiro still shivered like it was their first. “Do you mean that or are you trying to prove something?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Shiro flinched, but Keith held on tighter.

“Of course I meant it. How could I not?”

“Because it’s a joke!” Keith wanted to believe, for the first time in his life, he let himself get too close and his own heart had betrayed him. This was everything he’d spent years running from, the weakness of another person, the vulnerability that they could use against him. He was angry with Shiro for crossing that line he’d sworn never to cross and angry with himself for letting it happen. Worse, for wanting to throw caution to the wind and chase after it, knowing how it would end.

They always ended the same.

“It’s been a long time for me.” Shiro said gently, dropped a kiss to Keith’s temple and holding him close. No amount of alcohol could cloud these feelings. When everything else disappeared into the numbing haze that swept away all Shiro’s problems, this was the one thing he could hold on to like an anchor. “It’s the one good thing that-, it’s just nice to have something real. You don’t have to keep running, Keith, but just... let me. Please?”

Panic and common sense warred in Keith’s heart. They all promised to stay and promises meant nothing. He should never have let things go so far. Everything was a mistake, the only thing to do was run and keep running without looking back. Anything else meant trust, and trust always led to betrayal. Why couldn’t they just go back to the days when Shiro was the one chasing after him instead of asking for Keith to stop?

Saying no would end it. Shiro would respect it and go, Keith could build the walls around his heart even thicker so no one would ever break through again. He could go back to the way things used to be.

Instead, he tipped his face up and let Shiro draw him into a kiss. If he had one foot out the door, so what? He wasn’t ready to give this up. Shiro was too much to let go of. For now. Just for now. Just for a little while longer. “Is that all you want?” Keith asked, turning the too-honest confession into something teasing and easier to handle. Shiro’s expression froze for a moment before he let himself smile.

“For now, that’s all I want. I’m willing to wait to see where else this takes us, as long as you’re not in such a rush to kill yourself. For me?”

Shiro was still too sincere. He took the bait, but Keith felt like the one on a hook. It grated on Keith’s nerves, but when Shiro looked at him like that, all Keith could do was hold on tighter. “I don’t slow down very well, Shiro. You have to keep up.”

“I just don’t want this race to be your last.”

Keith didn’t have an answer for him, not one that Shiro wanted to hear, and not one he was ready to give, but he could kiss him. He could keep Shiro for one tender moment. It was something for Keith to remember when he walked away.

Keith was breathless when he pulled away, and Shiro’s mouth was slick and shiny, just the way he liked it. Then Shiro was tugging on his hand, guiding him into the city, and Keith was a little too ready to chase after him. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere. Somewhere else, somewhere no one will see us,” Shiro laughed. He sounded too loud to his own ears, and it felt like his legs were too long for his body. He just knew he didn’t want to be there anymore, where everyone could see them, and he didn’t want to be home or anywhere near the past that wouldn’t just let him go. Keith was his right now, and Shiro wanted to make it last. “Somewhere I can suck you off.”

Somewhere at his back, Keith was laughing, and it ached to know that Shiro already missed him.

 

* * *

 

Shiro was floating. He had been for the better part of the day. He lost his morning in a drunken haze, and now, most of his evening had gone with it, but there was something warm plastered against his back. Shiro didn’t think he’d ever felt so comfortable.

“Hey. Hey, you’re home, baby, come on.” Keith was there, pressing kisses against his shoulder, and Shiro chuckled. Contentment settled low in his chest, spreading across his limbs, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to him and coaxing him into another kiss.

“Come with me.” Shiro asked, his syllables slurring together but only slightly. He wanted Keith in his bed, wrapped in his sheets and there for him in the morning. He didn’t know how much of that he said out loud, but a shadow had fallen over Keith’s face. Shiro feigned ignorance and kissed him anyway.

He leaned on Keith the entire way to his apartment, buzzing with lazy satisfaction. His hand settled low on Keith’s waist, slipping just under the hem of his shirt to stroke the warm skin beneath it. This was what he wanted, to touch and feel. To love.

Except there was someone waiting for him in front of his apartment.

Matt Holt hadn’t gone anywhere.

“Shiro!” Matt’s entire face lit up happily and Shiro wished his old friend wasn’t quiet as excited or genuine. There were never any hidden meanings with Matt, he was as honorable and kind as anyone Shiro had ever met. They’d been best friends, once upon a time, back when they planned their whole futures together exploring the depths of space. Back before Shiro had ruined his own chances and had almost taken Matt with him.

He stumbled, feet feeling too big to keep his balance and Matt’s face hardened, his eyes darting to Keith. “You went out drinking.”

“I went out drinking.” Shiro agreed, more of a challenge than anything, just to watch Matt’s lips thin. He fumbled for his key and after a few unsuccessful attempts, managed to get the door open. He dragged Keith inside behind him and closed it on Matt who wedged a foot into the space and followed them both into the apartment.

“Allura said that she told you I’d be in town for a little while, so I thought I’d check in on you.” Matt was trying so damn hard to keep things light, falling back on the easy familiarity they used to have with each other, but Shiro didn’t appreciate it. He sat heavily on the couch, leaning back and splaying his legs as he pulled Keith down with him. All he wanted to do tonight was enjoy not remembering anything with Keith, beautiful and willing in his arms.

“I’m sure she did. You can report back to her that I’m fine and that I don’t appreciate her sending you here to spy on me. If I needed a babysitter, I’d call you.”

“Hey, c’mon. It’s not like that.” Matt lied smoothly. His heart was in the right place, he was worried. Shiro could always tell when his eyebrows pinched together too tightly, he’d always used to tease Matt about getting wrinkles so young. Now, all Shiro felt was irritation. Matt was just a reminder of everything he’d lost and he wasn’t in the mood to relive it all.

Keith cut in before he had a chance, bristling and protective, like he thought Matt posed some threat. “I think Shiro’s hinting that you should just leave. Why don’t you call ahead next time?”

Matt tensed, glancing at the arm Keith kept possessively strewn across Shiro’s shoulders and the vicious cut of his sneer. “Shiro, who is this?”

“Someone Shiro wants around,” Keith snapped, and he didn’t quite calm even with Shiro leaning into his space and urging him into the couch. He should’ve made Matt leave faster.

“Shiro, please.” Matt’s voice hitched around his name, the same way it did before he psyched himself up for a presentation, the same way it did on his first day of physical therapy. It was a nervous tick that he’d had for as long as Shiro had known him, and Shiro didn’t want to remember it anymore. He stepped forward like he wanted to reach out, but stopped himself. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“Doing what, Matt? What is it this time? Why are you still here? You never like what you see, and I don’t fucking care what you think.” Shiro snarled, angry like he never felt the need to be with anyone else, and he understood, God help him he understood. It was so easy to take a swipe at Matt, because he just wouldn’t stay down. Because Matt cared, and because Matt would let him get away with it. Some part of him still cared about the man he used to know, but that Shiro had died when the Kerberos mission went up in flames, and Shiro was tired of listening to them mourn. “I’ve changed, but you haven’t changed one bit. You think because I killed your father you have any right to tell me what to do. Well fuck that, and fuck you.”

Shiro knew he was lying. Matt had changed. It was in the way he flinched, in the horror that skirted across his features, but they would be no fighting this. Shiro knew a lot about old wounds, and unlike his old friend, he wasn’t afraid to exploit them - both Matt’s and his own. At least, for now.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Matt rebuilt his composure. Shiro pretended he didn’t notice, reaching around the side of the couch to find a half-empty bottle. Had he left it there all day? He couldn’t placed when he’d done that, but he took a drink anyway. This always ended badly. Matt should know by now. Shiro thought he’d learned to stop trying.

“This isn’t you.” Matt whispered into the dead air.

“It is now.” Shiro tipped his head back so he didn’t have to look at Matt anymore. This was what he’d become, it was his choice. It was the only thing left after the accident had taken everything else away from him. Matt was still looking for the pilot who found hope in the heart of every challenge, but he’d died in the accident along with Matt’s father.

“Shiro, let me help you. We can get through this together. You’ve got people who love you and we’re worried. You don’t have to go through this alone, we’ll be with you every step of the way.” Matt was pleading now, but to Shiro, it was all just background noise as he let himself enjoy the pleasant buzz in his blood.

“You let him get like this.” Matt turned his fury on Keith who sprawled protectively across Shiro.

“You talk a lot about helping him, but you just swoop in to tell him what to do? Shiro doesn’t need you.” Keith snarled back and something in the young pilot seemed to snap.

“He’s  _sick_ , are you blind? He’s sick and he needs help and if you gave a single damn about him at all, you’d see that he’s going to kill himself like this. You’re just using him, you’re some selfish, worthless little leech who’s dragging him down with you, is that it? Because the only reason you can sit there and let him try to drink himself to death is because you don’t care about him at all.”

“You don’t know anything about him  _or_  me.” Keith pushed himself to his feet, ready to take a swing at Matt, regardless if the man had any military training. Rage pulse through him like a heartbeat, indignant and righteous, but it covered the sudden knife-sharp stab of fear.

“I know what Shiro was like after the accident. I know what it did to him. I know that he can’t sleep and that he’s in pain and that he  _needs help_.”

“Enough.” Shiro waved his hand airily towards Matt, not even bothering to get angry. “Run back to Allura and tell her not to pull this again. I’m going to bed.”

“Shiro wai-”

“Enough.” Shiro repeated, with the same bland indifference. He sent Matt one final glance before taking a deep swig of what was left in his bottle. It still burned all the way down. “I’m where I want to be, with the people I want to be with.”

His reached for Keith’s waist, to prove a point, but Matt wasn’t looking. The brunette shook his head, his shoulders slumping in quiet resignation. It was an old dance. Shiro hoped Matt didn’t come back for another round. He watched him drag his feet to the exit, withdrawn and quiet, only to stop at the doorway. Without looking back, Matt whispered, “When you want help, we’ll still be here, Shiro.”

He’d made the offer before. Shiro still hadn’t taken it.

As the door closed, Shiro pulled Keith down and tucked his face into Keith’s side, breathing him in and tightening his hold. There was a hollowness in his chest he wished he could fill, and the warmth of his lover’s touched helped calm him. He kissed Keith’s shoulder, working his way across his clothes until he could touch the smooth dip of his clavicle, consuming warm skin with growing hunger.

Keith stilled him with a gentle hand, and Shiro kissed the tips of his fingers.

“Shiro.”

“He was wrong about you.” Shiro slurred, nuzzling into Keith’s palm. “He was wrong about everything.”

Keith let Shiro draw him in without protest, let Shiro touch him. He was reeling like he’d been punched in the head. He should have been thrilled. Matt was gone. Shiro chose  _him._

But the victory was a bitter one. It sat in his chest, hard and heavy, and even Shiro’s hands across his skin couldn’t ease it away. Matt had seen straight through him, in five minutes, he’d been flayed to the bone with no defense except his own anger. “You should go to bed.”

“Hey.” Dark, unfocused eyes found his own and for a moment, Keith let himself drown in them. Shiro traced one metal finger across Keith’s lips. “Don’t worry about him. I don’t want him here, I want you. Just let me love you tonight, that’s all I want.”

Keith swallowed the ugly truth and stole a kiss, pressing Shiro back into the couch. Matt hadn’t been wrong, but Keith could give Shiro tonight.

 

* * *

 

Keith was heavy and disoriented when he came to, exhausted after so long. The night before was written in his skin, but it had settled in the wariness of his bones and weakness in his limbs. Beside him, Shiro didn’t rouse. The drink clung to his skin. In moments like this, Keith could notice it, the sharp, bitter tang that tainted clean sweat. Shiro was damaged in more ways than the ones that lined his skin, and Keith couldn’t think about that, not now. Not ever.

He shook himself, refocusing on what woke him. His phone was beeping. It had been for a long time. He meant to shut it off, fuck whoever was spamming him so late, but the name beneath the notification froze him in place.

_Sender: Kogane, Jackson_

_It’s been a long time, kid. Wondering if we could catch up._


	7. Chapter 7

The engine sputtered and died, shuddering to a stop beneath Keith’s hands. He cursed under his breath and heaved his wrench across the workshop, sending it crashing into the wall. Something was wrong with the fuel intake and he’d taken the entire fucking engine apart, but still couldn’t find it the flaw. Keith slumped against the Renegade and buried his face in his hands. 

Why couldn’t anything just be easy?

Shiro had to go and ruin everything by saying those words. They shouldn’t mean so much, he shouldn’t have wanted to hear them so badly. He’d spent his life running from them because they were always lies, and now he’d pushed Shiro so hard to prove his devotion that Keith had broken his own rules. It was always supposed to just be a game to make them all chase after him. He needed to feel wanted, and love was the ultimate want. Keith just never meant to fall in love too.

As soon as he let himself care about anyone, he was going to get hurt. It was only a matter of time until people left him and if he let them in, they’d tear his heart out when they abandoned him. Keith  _knew_  the risks, but he’d let Shiro get too close, lulled by the feel of his heartbeat as they slept beside each other and the way Shiro’s laugh made him feel like he was the only one in the room. Keith had let this happen and Shiro had ruined everything.

_You don’t care about him at all._

Matt’s words whirled round and round in his brain like a song that he couldn’t get out of his thoughts. Shiro had denied it, but Keith knew the truth. He’d made Shiro chase after him this entire time. Keith had demanded too much, ignored Shiro’s boundaries, made everything all about him. Matt had been right all along.

Not love, but some sick caricature built on obsession. It was all Keith was capable of. He was going to destroy Shiro, and Shiro had asked for it when he asked Keith to stay. If Keith had any sense, he’d break it off. If he had the decency to care about Shiro’s well-being, even if only for this one moment, he would stay as far away from him as he could.

And yet Keith always felt better leaving Shiro in his bed in the morning. He liked knowing Shiro was at his apartment, where Keith knew there was food and nothing stronger than coffee.

It felt like there were spikes digging through Keith’s chest, embedded in the soft places between his ribs, and he couldn’t think straight. They pressed in deeper with every passing second, until Keith was convinced that he would shatter. Something had to give. It was only a matter of time, and Keith had been under fire for so long that defeat almost felt like mercy.

“Keith?”

Hunk’s voice was a bucket of ice water, and Keith jolted like he was trying to escape his own skin. He was holding up Keith’s wrench. Hunk looked apologetic, but that only made Keith angrier. “You okay?”

“Fine.” The answer was as abrasive as acid and Hunk backed off with a worried expression. He only meant well, he always did, but Keith wasn’t in the mood to let it go. Directing his pent up frustration on someone else was always better than a self-inflicted wound. “Why do you always have to needle me? You can’t ever leave well enough alone.”

“Sorry.” Hunk turned back to his workbench with a frown. “I was just trying to help.”

“Oooh, you were just trying to help?” Keith singsonged back in a mocking voice. “That makes it all better then, right? Why don’t you mind your own fucking business for once instead of trying to give me advice about mine. Or better yet, how about you actually do some work instead of letting that loudmouthed loser of yours come and pollute our shop.”

Hunk stared at Keith, mouth open in shock. For a moment, Keith thought that Hunk would start crying and sneered at the other man for his weakness. But something crystallized in Hunk’s eyes, an unexpected stubborn streak as he drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “Stop being such a jerk.”

“Get over it.” Keith said dismissively. “You know I’m right about Lance. He’s nothing but some brain dead idiot distraction.”

“He’s my best friend and you don’t get to talk about him like that!” There was a waiver in Hunk’s voice, but he held himself still, refusing to back down. Keith knew he’d pushed too far again, lashed out in anger when he didn’t mean to cut so deeply, but Matt’s words kept ringing in his ears. He wasn’t a good person and he didn’t care. Hunk should have known that by now too.

“This is  _my_  shop and I say he’s not allowed anymore. I don’t need that much stupidity when I’m trying to work and if you want to keep your job, you’ll get rid of him and focus on something that really matters. Understand?”

Hunk was quiet for a long time. Keith considered the matter dropped, and told himself the chill that rested at the bottom of his spine was meant to feel good, but something throbbed in the back of his head. He reached for a pair of pliers, because he needed to look busy rather than because knew what he was doing. His thoughts were all over the place, slipping through his fingers like oil, and Keith didn’t know if they were pulling him under or if he’d already fallen.

“I quit.” Hunk made the decision with his head hung low, voice soft and unhappy, but there was no room left for hesitation. Keith tensed, looking over shoulder but Hunk kept his back to him as he slowly packed up his tools, tidying up his work space one last time.

When Hunk turned to face him, Keith almost flinched. Hunk looked tired, it was written across his face with broad strokes and deep shadow. It was funny how much difference a few seconds could make. He waited, like he was expecting something, but Keith was reeling, mouth half-parted with all the words he should have said. Keith knew this was coming; he’d seen the signs for months. It was screamed through the halls with every one of Lance’s visits, but Keith just thought he’d have more time. He always thought he did, even when he was expecting the worst.

“Fine.” Keith ground through clenched teeth, and he thought about throwing his pliers at Hunk, tearing him apart one last time, but all he felt was numb. “Took you long enough.”

Hunk shook his head. Keith listened to the sounds of him collecting his things as he pretended to work, but his hands were shaking too hard to hold anything steady. He could almost see Hunk, first working his way through the office, then through their workshop. Keith wanted to yell at him to hurry up, to get it over with. Keith wanted to yell at him to stay.

Hunk stopped at the entrance, his bag hoisted high on his shoulder. He had a coffee machine tucked under one arm. Keith had forgotten Hunk was the one who brought that in. “This isn’t about the shop.” He said softly. “If you cared anything about it shop, you would be around more, and I just… You need help, Keith, and I don’t mean around here. I’m sorry, I just really hope you get it.”

“Getting into business with you was a mistake.” Keith spat, staring down Hunk’s crumbling expression. Hunk was trying to hold it together, brave faced with his large hands trembling slightly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Keith wouldn’t let him, twisting the knife even deeper. “I don’t need a partner and I don’t need a friend. I don’t need you, Hunk, so just leave. Go running off to Lance, it’s what you always wanted to do anyways.”

Hunk took a shaky breath and Keith wished he didn’t see how much it hurt, but Hunk could never hide his emotions. He wore them out on his sleeve, his heart too big to hide. He straightened, giving a single nod. “You know, you’re always so sure people are going to leave you, but you’re the one who pushes them away.”

“Get out!” Keith snarled, turning his back on Hunk so he didn’t have to see him leave. The door to the shop chimed as it opened, Hunk closing it softly behind him. Good riddance. He was a bad person, this was just par for the course. Hunk was like Shiro, too damned naïve to accept it. Screw them all, Keith was right. Everyone left in the end, so what was the point in wasting time on getting close. He didn’t need them.

He didn’t need anyone.

 

* * *

 

Shiro yawned, stretching back against the sheets until his back cracked. Everything was too warm to move, but the early afternoon light spilled insistently across his face. The thin curtains on Keith’s window did little to shield him and Shiro groaned, flopping over to escape, squishing the body curled up beside him.

It yelped and swatted Shiro fully awake. “You’re squishing me!”

Shiro ignored it, giving a sleepy rumble of laughter as he pulled Keith into his arms and buried his face into the other man’s shoulder. “Shhhh, I’m asleep.”

“You’re not asleep, if you were asleep, you’d be half on top of me and drooling!”

“I could start drooling if you’d like?” Shiro offered magnanimously.

But Keith didn’t rise to the bait. He remained stubbornly indifferent, looking away as Shiro tried to cuddle closer, but his hand found Shiro’s and rested on top of it. It had been a tough couple of days. There were still problems at work, if Shiro was to guess; he’d come across them entirely by accident. The garage was too quiet and too big without Hunk there. Shiro didn’t know exactly what happened, and Keith wouldn’t talk about it. Keith had been… distant. Shiro knew Keith was taking it hard. Keith wouldn’t talk about a lot of things, but Shiro suspected that he knew him well enough to not need the words. Whatever happened, Shiro would stay by his side and help him through.

Shiro was sorry about Hunk, and he would miss him, but this didn’t have to be the end. Keith would find a way to keep running his shop, and in the mean time, Shiro would be here, to help him through in any way he could. And it was gentle. More tender and more soft than anything he was used to. It was the best thing Shiro had had in a long time.

He tightened his grip around Keith’s waist, pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades as something in his stomach clenched unhappily. The scent of his partner and the warmth of his skin helped ground him, soothing the tension that threatened to bite down when he turned his back. Matt was wrong about them, about everything. Shiro had found something good in his life, and he was fine. He had everything under control. It had been years since he’d felt so at ease, like he finally deserved to be happy.

“Hey.” Keith grunted. “Watch the hand.”

Shiro blinked away his surprise and carefully loosened his grip. He hadn’t meant to hold on so tightly, but Keith was watching him funny. He shrugged off his concern with a smile, letting the moment slip and tried to focus on what mattered. Keith mattered. Keith and his incredible bedhead. “Sorry.” Shiro reached up to comb his fingers through Keith’s hair, trying to coax him back down against him. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Matt was wrong. Shiro was sorry for the way things had fallen apart, but he didn’t want Matt’s pity or his interference. He was in a good place now. Someday, maybe Matt and Allura would be able to see that. It would never go back to the way things were but maybe…there was a chance to start again. Shiro hadn’t thought about the future since the accident, his life had been reduced to getting through each day. All his plans and his dreams were gone, the only thing that made the days different was how much pain he was in. But now there was hope, something like a second chance.

He tucked his face into the hollow of Keith’s throat and breathed deeply, his ears burning with embarrassment that he didn’t ask for and took too long to shake off. “Do you have anywhere to be?” He asked. “I was thinking we could do more this and nap.”

Keith just grunted, but let Shiro slide his hands down the side of his body, rough calloused fingers against the soft smooth skin. Shiro could feel the muscles tense and then relax beneath his touch as he dragged his fingers down the fine hair of Keith’s belly. His partner’s legs parted slightly as he slipped between his thighs, gently stroking with practiced intimacy.

“You’re so beautiful.”

That did finally coax a smile to cross Keith’s lips and Shiro drank it down greedily, rolling him over and pressing him into the mattress with a kiss. 

“This isn’t being lazy.” Keith protested with a chuckle.

“The lazy comes later.” Shiro all but purred, too pleased with himself. “We’ve got to work up to lazy, but we have all day.” He stole another kiss, easing Keith open and settling his weight across the other man’s hips. This was perfection, the world soft and warm and entirely in Keith’s arms. Things finally felt stable, as if his life had stopped falling apart every time he fell asleep and the nightmares took him. Things were better now, they’d keep being better. It was easy to just let himself be happy like this, especially when he’d wanted it for so long. This was more than he ever thought he’d have after he’d lost everything once. Shiro was going to make sure he never lost this again, no more failures and no more mistakes. “I love you so much.”

Keith’s smile didn’t slip, but he gently pushed Shiro off and rolled out of bed. “I think we’re going to need some food first. I’m going to go make breakfast.”

Now it was Shiro’s turn to groan, flopping back on the mattress in mild disappointment, but not complaining about the view as Keith searched for a pair of soft flannel boxers and headed out to the kitchen. Breakfast wouldn’t be bad, he wondered if he could convince Keith to have breakfast in bed. He slipped out of the sheets, his bladder making the decision for him, and padded to the bathroom. It was the only acceptable excuse for getting out of bed.

He could hear Keith banging around in the kitchen and finished up, washing his hands. “Hey-” He called out, but the words died on his lips as he bent down, plucking a condom wrapper from the top of the wastebasket with a frown.

Keith didn’t notice when Shiro hovered in the doorway to the kitchen until he cleared his throat. “What are you doing?” He teased, but Shiro just stared at him, eyes dark and unreadable.

“Keith, what’s this?” He kept his voice steady, watching as Keith glanced down at the condom wrapper in his hand.

“I’m pretty sure you know what that is, Shiro. We’ve used them enough.” Keith turned back to the fridge.

“But we haven’t used one in weeks. I thought that we…this isn’t from us.”

Keith didn’t say a word, just closed the fridge with his hip and searched for a glass for his orange juice. “You’re overreacting.” He said flatly. “It’s not a big deal.”

Shiro made an aborted gesture, like his entire body had turned in one direction before being yanked down another. “Then tell me how I’m supposed to react!” He snapped, sharper and louder than he intended, but a waver twisted his voice. There was a different explanation, there had to be.

Keith was the picture of calm, a painful juxtaposition to the tremors that ripped through Shiro’s chest and wrecked havoc on his nerves. Keith looked _bored_. It hurt to look at him. He took a slow drink of his juice, staring Shiro down with enough cold calculation to freeze the blood in his veins, and Shiro was abruptly, pointedly aware of how little there was between them. There was nowhere to hide, and that wasn’t good enough anymore.

“We never said we were exclusive.”

There wasn’t the abrupt dissociation of a bad attack, or the lurch of balance that came with too much drink. All Shiro felt was a hollow ache and the tired gnawing hope that he’d misunderstood Keith somehow. “So you did. With someone- who was it?”

Shiro sounded calm to his ears, but watching the nonchalance in Keith’s shrug twisted something inside him. It wound its way around his throat and strangled the air from his lungs, and Shiro felt stupid. In his boxers, waving a bit torn plastic at Keith’s face, he felt pathetic and worthless and so goddamn stupid.

Keith was already tired of him. He scoffed, finished his glass and put it in the sink, the picture of indifference like Shiro didn’t warrant the effort to argue. “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing, going through my trash?”

“I deserve an explanation, Keith!” He didn’t mean to shout. A lot of the time, Shiro never meant to. His anger latched on, building momentum as it raced through him, growing like a wave until it crashed across a shore. He didn’t know if he wanted Keith to catch him, or to stop him. “You don’t get to decide what does and doesn’t matter! You can’t just do this you can’t just. Who was it?!”

Then Keith was in his face, just as angry, just as fierce, and the quiet peace of their early afternoon faded like smoke. “I told you it doesn’t matter! Don’t you trust me? Then forget about it.”

“How can you ask me that?” Shiro slammed his hand down on the counter hard enough to make Keith jump, leaving the crinkled condom wrapper sitting like an accusation on the fake marble.

“Either you trust me or you don’t.” Keith hissed, snatching the condom from the counter and waving it in Shiro’s face. “Either way, it’s not my problem.”

It was like Keith had twisted the knife, each word cutting straight to the bone. A moment ago his life was solid beneath his feet and now he could feel the cracks, ground giving way until he was spiraling. He’d just assumed, he’d poured everything into this only to have it all torn away. Confusion replaced rage, panicked desperation breaking through. “It matters.” Shiro croaked. “I trust you, Keith, but how can I now? Why would you do this?”

Keith snorted, turning his back on Shiro and tossing the wrapper in the trash. “If it bothers you that much, just leave. It’s when you’ve been waiting for this whole time.”

“I  _love_ you, you asshole! I thought you loved me too.”

“That’s your problem.”

Shiro snarled, barely keeping himself from taking a swing at Keith. “So this whole thing was just some sick game then. You wanted to see how far the idiot drunk would go for you, is that it? See how I’d make a fool of myself falling in love with you. Or maybe you just wanted a convenient fuck whenever you called.” He stopped and rubbed his hands over his face, breathing too hard and feeling the last bits of control slip away. He thought it would be different this time, that he’d finally found someone who cared. Keith had seen him at his worst when he was too lost in his own head to do more than shake, but he hadn’t run. Keith hadn’t used it to hurt him. Damn it, it was supposed to be different this time!

It was supposed to be real.

“Believe what you want to believe.” Keith refused to turn around to face him and Shiro let his fists drop to his sides. Broken glass rattled around his heart and he bled around the edges. The fight went out of him and all Shiro could feel was tired. He should have been used to betrayal by now, but he’d been so eager to trust, that he must have missed all the warning signs. Shiro had been looking for a partner and all Keith wanted was another toy.

“Matt was right.” Shiro whispered, more to himself than anyone else. He didn’t see the way Keith tensed, didn’t hear the venom slipping into his voice.

“Get out.”

Shiro didn’t want to be there and he couldn’t leave fast enough.

Keith stayed in the kitchen, reaching for bowls he didn’t intend to use, a half-formed breakfast plan still spinning in his head. He stayed there until Shiro’s footsteps faded down the hall, and he thought he could hear him taking the staircase downstairs. Shiro would, if he was trying to get away from Keith as fast as possible.

 _Matt was right._ Good. Matt was right. Keith was right, too. If that was all it took was a crinkled wrapper to send Shiro running, then Keith was right about everything and every single one of them. Shiro had just been looking for a reason to leave. If Keith hadn’t left that wrapper there as a test, then Shiro would have found another reason eventually. Keith saved himself from wasted time and unnecessary grief, and Shiro got what he deserved.

He hadn’t seen the look on Shiro’s face when he left. He hadn’t seen the way his shoulders crumbled, or the way he struggled with his shoes because his hands were shaking so badly, and that was good. Keith was fine.

Keith was fine.

He snarled, slamming a fist down on the kitchen counter and everything on it clattered. The marble was too solid to dent, the pain too dull to make a difference, and he didn’t need this. He had to be fine, or he would tell himself that he was until it passed.

Keith was fine, and soon he’d start feeling it, too.

He threw everything to the ground, let dented plastic clatter and cheap ceramic break. Keith grabbed the first thing he could put on. He didn’t look at the mess they left in his bedroom when he slammed that door close. He needed to get as far away from his apartment as he could.

His phone hummed in his pocket and Keith yanked it out, bruised knuckles aching and a small smear of blood marring the skin. The number wasn’t familiar, but that wasn’t a surprise. Who did he have left to call when he’d chased them all away? It was for the best, he told himself, it was better to do it now on his own terms. Hunk, Shiro, they were all going to leave him eventually, what was the point in waiting for them to waste his time?

He knew better than to trust anyone, in the end, they’d all proved him right anyways. He didn’t need them.

“What?” He snapped into the phone, the voice on the other end drawing him up short. Keith stopped in the middle of the sidewalk as other people jostled around him. It had been years since he heard that gravelly voice and suddenly, he was eight years old again, sitting by the window and hoping that today would be the day his father came home again.

“Yeah, no. It’s okay.” Keith said haltingly, trying to remember how to speak. “Lunch sounds good. I’ll see you then.” He ended the call and stared at the phone for a long moment in shock before hurling it at the building beside him in a burst of shattered plastic.


	8. Chapter 8

Shiro couldn’t count how many times he’d been here. The drink muddled his memories, and everything blurred together after that, but it was always the same: the acrid tang of exhaust smoke and the angry rumble of powerful machines. There had been a time when the electricity in the air was enough to make him feel like he was flying, back when the thrum of an engine between his legs and the smell of gasoline hadn’t brought him home. Back when Shiro hadn’t been able to feel the real thing.

It was like he had finally come full circle. Red would be coming down that track, and Shiro was watching him from the sidelines. Except now, Red was Keith, and Shiro was no longer anyone’s hero.

Shiro hadn’t been ready to consider forever, but he didn’t think they would’ve ended so soon. The weight of everything they’d shared dropped like a stone in the center of his belly, tearing him open from the inside out, and no matter how much he tried to fill it, the burn of alcohol down his throat never quite spread that far. It hurt more than he was prepared for, and everything fell apart with terrifying speed. Shiro didn’t remember how far he’d walked after things had went to Hell, but he hadn’t gotten home until early in the morning the following day. He’d tried calling Keith two times afterwards, back when he’d calmed down enough for doubt and concern to creep in. Maybe everything hadn’t been cut and dry. Maybe Keith did deserve his trust. Then the ache in his chest would sharpen, and Shiro would medicate until he forgot he’d ever called.

It didn’t change anything. Keith never answered.

So he was at the races again, as close as he could be to touching the sky. Closer to the person who could take him there.

Shiro thought maybe, maybe if there was a chance? Maybe Shiro wasn’t thinking anyway. But maybe there was something more. Maybe there was something else going on. The crowd around him rose in a deafening screech as another race came to an end. Shiro wasn’t paying attention. He just tilted back his flask and poured enough courage into his mouth so he could try to find Keith. It almost seemed like a good idea.

He was wrong.

His heart skipped when he saw Keith again, putting the last finishing touches on the Renegade. The hoverbike was sleek and beautiful, more advanced than any of the competition that clustered around it. All you had to do was look and you could see it was something special. Or that could have been all the driver. Keith looked exactly like he had that first night, haughty and distant, confident, and just as dangerous.

It hurt the worst to know what lay beneath the image of Red now was the man who laughed at his terrible jokes or whose hair stuck up in every direction when they woke up together in the morning. Shiro knew him, every line in Keith’s body, the weight of him as he slid into Shiro’s lap with a low, wanting growl, the quiet insecurities and the fears he hid from everyone else when he was out here in his persona, ready to chase death.

For a moment, Shiro could see  _his_  Keith again and the ground seemed to roll beneath him, caught up in the storm of his own emotions. Before he could gather himself enough to break from the crowd and cross the space between them, Keith’s eyes met his own. They stared at each other for a flurry of heartbeats, irrational hope filling the empty, carved out part of his chest before Keith looked away, dismissing Shiro entirely.

He’d been released and Keith made sure he saw. The lithe brunette pressed in close to Keith as he bent to kiss his neck, murmuring something that made the fan laugh. Shiro didn’t know if Keith was putting on a show or if he just didn’t care enough about privacy as he pushed the brunette up against the Renegade, pinning him down and slotting their hips together. Shiro looked away feeling like he was going to be sick. Was this the man Keith had cheated on him with? Was he just one of many? Had Keith been keeping a string of eager fans on the side to feed his ego and libido whenever Shiro hadn’t given him attention quickly enough?

Had he really been that easy to replace?

The worst sort of dismay threatened to engulf him, and Shiro was going to be sick. He found himself reaching for the inner pocket of his jacket, tracing along the patch that commemorated another time. The Rocketmen, they’d called themselves, they never wanted to touch the ground, but now everything beneath Shiro’s feet felt like it was crumbling, and he had nothing to hold onto. Keith didn’t care. Keith was gone, with his hand in the back pocket of his latest conquest, and Shiro knew where they were going, knew what they were going to do, and he hated himself for it. But in that moment, he hated Keith even more.

Shiro didn’t watch them go. He had enough sense in him to keep that sense of preservation, and if he had any more he’d have already left.

 _Fuck you_. His brain supplied the curses even if he couldn’t get his voice to work. He should have left well enough alone, Keith made it clear that he was just another disposable piece of trash to use up and throw away. Why was he even here, dragging his sorry ass through the sweaty bodies and exhaust fumes, chasing after something that had already moved on. If Keith had welcomed him back with open arms, Shiro knew he would have forgiven him. Just another opiate to numb the pain inside, something to use to forget about how much it all hurt.

God, he hated himself for being so pathetic. When did he get so desperate? Why couldn’t he ever change? Shiro shoved his way through the crowd until he made it to the Renegade, remembering the last time they’d ridden together and how Keith had brought them both to the very edge.

With a shout, he slammed his fist into one of the side mirrors, shattering the glass and breaking it from its mouth. He grabbed it, throwing his weight back until he pried it from the Renegade. It still wasn’t enough. His metal fist didn’t bleed, there wasn’t any scraped knuckles or smear of blood to worry about. He bent to pick up one of the sharp pieces of glass and dragged it along the body of the Renegade, cutting deep through the paint to score the metal beneath.

The Renegade was a masterpiece, the prettiest tank not on the market, but Shiro had seen under its hood and knew where to hurt it. The hood popped off with a quick flick and he was reaching into its guts, pulling out a handful of vital wiring. It took so much effort and care to shape the Gade. All it took was a second to tear it down.

“What the hell are you doing?” Shouts from the crowd came from behind him as people tried to stop the damage, but Shiro wasn’t ready to quit. He threw the first punch and the crowd erupted just like he knew it would. They were always so thirsty for violence. This was just like they met months ago, spit out from the brawl and dragged away to wherever Keith was now with his latest conquest.

This time when the brawl spit him out, all Shiro caught was a mouthful of asphalt. He dragged himself to his feet, debating whether to wade back into the fray. 

But the mob made the decision for him, pulling him back in and holding him prisoner until they tired of him. It was the most violent storm, the most punishing drug. Shiro couldn’t walk away, but this time, at least he knew he’d gotten his shot in. It still wasn’t enough.

Shiro lost himself in their force, gave into the bloodrage and blind panic. When they screamed, he screamed. When they fought, he fought, and when they ran, Shiro lost himself. He couldn’t know if Keith found the Renegade, he didn’t know how he reacted. He didn’t know satisfaction or grief. At the end of the night, all Shiro knew was that everything hurt and blood was dripping sluggishly down the back of his nape. It took too many tries to get his apartment door open and when he dropped his keys because his fingers were numb, Shiro sobbed, slumping against its frame. It was too much and he just… He just didn’t want to be alone.

 _I’m sorry._ He said into his phone, and couldn’t even remember dialing. _I can’t do this anymore. Please come back… Please help me._

 

* * *

 

Keith was a wreck. The race had been a bust. It had never taken off, but that didn’t fucking matter because the Renegade was totaled. Someone had severed the internal computer, turning it into a pretty heap of expensive junk, and it would take days to repair. Weeks now that he was alone. He’d spent the entire night dragging it back to the garage, fighting the urge to beat the rest of the machine into submission. The jackass he’d dragged along was nothing but a nuisance, hovering over Keith with all the usefulness of a human-sized piece of shit.

There was only one person who could be responsible.

It wasn’t a good idea to be here, not after trying to avoid him for so long. Keith didn’t know what he would do if Shiro was home, but there was a fire in his veins that exhaustion only fed, and when he banged on Shiro’s apartment door, he sounded like he wanted to tear it apart.

“Open the door.” He snarled. “Open the fucking door, you asshole. I know what you did and I’m going to make sure you pay for it.” If he didn’t take it out of Shiro’s hide himself. The Renegade was his livelihood, Shiro knew exactly how to hit him where it hurt. He wasn’t exactly sure what would happen when he saw Shiro again, but rage spurred him on and demanded an answer.

The door creaked open and Keith readied himself to swing, but it wasn’t Shiro smirking down at him. The man seemed enormous, a wall of muscle that filled the doorway to Shiro’s apartment. His face was scarred, lines carved down through one of his eyes to his cruel smile that seemed almost fanged. Metal twisted as he moved, an ugly prosthetic bonded to the scarred, burned skin of his arm. “Can I help you?”

“I-I, uh…” Keith just stared, wondering if he could have gotten the wrong apartment. Had Shiro moved out in just a few days? “I was looking for Shiro.” He said lamely, but he wasn’t prepared for how the stranger’s eyes sparked with excitement.

“You must be Keith, I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re scrawnier than I was picturing, I didn’t think you’d be Takashi’s type.” The man said as Keith bristled, hating the way Shiro’s name sounded in his mouth.

Keith tensed, lips curled back in disgust. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sendak. Didn’t Takashi tell you about me?” He faked a pout. “Noble of him not to kiss and tell, it’s that bleeding heart of his. I’m not surprised, he’s always such a fucking boy scout. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now.”

“Where is he?” Keith sized up Sendak, calculating his chances of shoving his way past the beast of a man and into the apartment. Whoever this was, it wasn’t another friend from the Garrison. There was power in Sendak, but it was brute strength and violence, not the same discipline that Matt had.

“Awww, sorry.” Sendak’s voice was poison as he swung the door open. “Shiro is out of order right now.”

Keith was caught off guard, and he didn’t like it. Shiro’s home had never been the most organized, but it never looked like this, furniture in disarray, clothes strewn across the floor. It said too much that Keith didn’t want to think about, and a new sense of dread began to settle over his bones. Sendak adopted an easy stance, expression deceptively open despite the way his eyes tracked Keith. Keith wouldn’t move farther than the entrance’s hallway. He didn’t want to be here, but he wanted Sendak out of Shiro’s home even more.

“You’re welcome to him if you like. There’s not much fight left in him, but I always liked him better this way.” Keith had expected anger or defensiveness, but not Sendak’s sickened amusement. There was an upended pill bottle on the counter. Keith’s hand curled around it before he could stop himself, and the sharp clack of each tablet as they hit the ground echoed through his skull.

“If you touched him-”

“I did more than touch him.” Sendak almost laughed. His lips curled into the worst sort of smile. “How unexpectedly predictable of him. He likes someone who can make him beg. When he couldn’t find me, he found a poor substitute.” He took a step towards Keith, a big man who knew how to use his weight. Keith had faced down more bullies than he could count in his lifetime. They all walked the same way, like they couldn’t wait to take whatever you didn’t want to give. “We’re very similar, you and I. But Takashi needs a firmer hand.”

“I’m nothing like you.” Keith resisted the urge to step back, unwilling to give Sendak any ground. The bigger man was trying to intimidate him, but Keith stared him down and refused to show weakness. He knew as soon as he showed his throat, Sendak was the kind of man to go in for the kill.

“Really?” The word was laced with mockery. That same sick sense of humor ran through everything he said, like he knew Keith’s answers before he had a chance to speak. Sendak oozed arrogance and Keith wanted to take his knife to that smug smile. “Shiro told me all about  _you_. I’m not really surprised, he has a type, after all. He always picks the ones who hurt him.”

“I never did!” Keith bared his teeth like a feral animal, surprised he didn’t choke on his own lies. He’d hurt Shiro, sure, but it was the best thing that could have happened. Shiro hadn’t trusted him, he was the one who decided to leave. Keith had just held the door open for him. Besides, he was saving Shiro, even Matt could see Keith was no good. This wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t! It didn’t stop the guilt from crawling up into his throat, sick and sour.

Sendak only laughed. “I don’t blame you, he’s pretty when he’s broken. The best part is how much he wants it, he does it to himself. You and me, we’re just here to give him what he asks for.”

“You’re sick.” The whisper was hoarse and ragged, but Keith was so horrified that he couldn’t look away.

“And you like to watch, or so I hear.” Sendak sauntered across the apartment to the couch, grabbing a fistful of hair to haul Shiro up off the cushions. His eyes tracked unseen demons, lost in a world of alcohol, prescription painkillers, and muted memories. They constricted down to pinpoints, staring straight through Keith like he wasn’t even there as Sendak held him still, Shiro helpless and pliant in Sendak’s hands. “You want a go or do you want another show?

Keith moved a step closer before he could talk himself out of it, but Shiro never reacted. Sendak let him fall, running a possessive hand down his bare side, and as Keith approached, a hungry satisfaction settled over his features. Keith felt his eyes on him with every step he took, until he was close enough to touch Shiro’s shoulder, just inches away from the angry bruises mottled across his arm. Shiro’s skin was clammy and pale like he was fighting a fever. It hurt to see him like this, it hurt to see him at all. Shiro didn’t deserve it. Shiro deserved to be safe and happy, Shiro deserved so much more. Keith combed his bangs out of his eyes gently, but his mind was already made up.

Sendak didn’t know Keith could move so quickly. His knife pressed into the soft spaces between Sendak’s ribs, and his other hand curled around Sendak’s throat. He didn’t need it to keep him in place, but it felt good, felt right.

“Get out. If I ever see you around him again, I will kill you.”

For once, Sendak wasn’t smiling. Something ugly and vicious twisted flitted across his features. It was the most honest thing about him, and Keith wondered if he had something similar that attracted Shiro to him. In that moment, Keith knew his control was little more than an illusion. Everything could unravel in an instant, and Keith knew with cold, cruel certainty that he would kill Sendak if he fought back.

A heartbeat passed between them, and another. Then Sendak slowly unclenched his fists and got to his feet with languid grace. Shiro was shivering, curled in on himself and twitching. Neither of them were paying attention.

“Takashi does have a type.” Sendak laughed. It was a bitter sound. “I’m done playing for now. He’ll find me when he’s ready. He always does.”

Sendak sounded so nauseatingly confident, Keith could’ve gutted him anyway. He watched him saunter out of the apartment, stopping only to lazily pick a jacket off a chair. Sendak didn’t look back. Keith locked the door behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Keith didn’t know what to do with himself. His grip was tight around the handle of his knife, knuckles white with tension, but steady with familiarity. This was supposed to be a victory, but all Keith felt was ill. Then a soft, pained sound came from the vicinity of the couch, and nothing else mattered. 

He was at Shiro’s side an in instant, knife replaced with gentle hands that soothed the white bangs from Shiro’s forehead as Keith murmured quiet words of reassurance. He pressed a kiss to Shiro’s sweaty forehead. “I’m here, you’re okay. No one is going to hurt you ever again, I promise.”

Shiro didn’t react, Keith didn’t think he could even understand. His eyes had rolled back and his breathing was worryingly slow, but he curled into the warmth of Keith’s hands with a quiet sigh. The thick scars across his body stood out sharply against the too pale skin, bruised fingerprints already turning black. They circled his neck like a heavy collar, curled around his hip bones, and around his wrists. It was like Sendak had been trying to write his name in Shiro’s body to let everyone know he’d been claimed and marked, that Shiro was always going to belong to him. Keith wanted to chase after Sendak and cut that cruelty from his flesh.

“I’m so sorry.” It was easier to apologize when no one was listening, Keith could almost convince himself that it mattered. He grabbed blanket from the pile of clothes on the floor and found a pillow to make Shiro as comfortable as possible. He knew he wasn’t welcome here anymore, this place couldn’t go back to the way things used to be. It was broken now, but he could still remember what it was like to lose himself in being happy, even if they were both just pretending that it was all okay. Most of the time, he hadn’t even been pretending. Keith couldn’t leave like this when Shiro needed him.

The apartment was a mess, like Shiro had given up entirely. There wasn’t any food, but empty bottles clacked against each other as Keith nudged the piles of junk on the floor. Most were old, one was only half finished. Probably a gift from Sendak, the brand was more expensive than anything Shiro could normally afford. It was tucked against an all too familiar leather jacket. Keith didn’t like it there, didn’t want it anywhere near that bottle. He held it close, pressing it into his face. The patch was worn and frayed, that stupid Rocketman patch that started everything, all it took was a few tugs and it came off of Shiro’s jacket. If Keith had never noticed it, none of this would have gone so far. Yet Keith still pocketed the thing, with half a thought to fix it somehow. Fix it like he wished he could fix this. 

With a sigh, Keith started to clean up, channeling his anxiety into something easier that he could control. Anything to take his mind off the quiet, breathy noises from the couch. He ordered food from that place Shiro liked and Keith had been avoiding ever since their fight. He loaded the laundry into the washing machine and gathered up the bottles in garbage bags, slowly reorganizing Shiro’s life.

Guilt followed in his every footstep. This wasn’t his fault, Shiro was an adult who made his own choices. The drinking, the ex, the chaos, that was all Shiro…but he couldn’t shake the feeling. Matt had seen right through him, Shiro was better off without him. He wasn’t a good man and he was never going to change, but he hadn’t meant this. Keith had never meant to hurt Shiro, but it seemed like he couldn’t stop even when they were apart.

No matter how many bottles he cleared, he wouldn’t be able to make up for it.

When the day outside grew brighter, Keith pulled the drapes closed. He’d lost the right to be here, and revenge had lost its appeal, but he couldn’t seem to stop waiting.

The sun was setting when Shiro woke, falling through the misery of half-forgotten memories. The first thing he noticed was the pain that throbbed at the back of his skull and rippled across the rest of it. Something had crawled into his mouth and died, and it felt like nothing was where it was supposed to be. His back and arms were aching and sore, even when he didn’t move, and he wasn’t sure he trusted his legs to carry him. He gripped his blanket tighter, tucked his face into the pillow beneath his head, knowing full well that he hadn’t fallen asleep like this and Sendak never would have left him like this. It didn’t sound like Sendak was around, but Shiro closed his eyes to keep himself from seeing who was. It only worked for so long.

“Shiro?”

Keith’s voice was soft with uncertainty, and Shiro struggled to remember the last time he heard him like that, if he ever had. It made him nauseous. Keith was never supposed to see him like this.

Shiro pulled himself up slowly, heard Keith take a step closer and shook his head. He gathered his blankets around himself, painfully aware of what he looked like, of all the ways he came up short. It was too late for self-preservation, but he could try. He had to. He made his way to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, trying to make himself feel more human again. Stupid. Again, all over again, and Shiro just wanted it to stop being so overwhelming, just for a little while. He waited, expecting ( _hoping_ ) Keith would take this chance to leave, but he wasn’t so lucky. With a sigh, he changed his clothes, settling for soft sweatpants and an old t-shirt, anything that wouldn't scrape against his raw skin.

Keith didn’t crowd him when he reemerged, but he watched him with anticipation so thick, Shiro could’ve choked on it if he wasn’t already sick on his regret.

“There’s food in the kitchen.” Keith said, in that same, almost alien voice. It was concern, Shiro reminded himself. He wished he wasn’t so hungry for it.

Without a word, he turned towards the kitchen. Shiro reached for a box of cold take out, shot a glance at the microwave and accepted that he didn’t actually fucking care, not about this, not about anything, and certainly not about the way Keith watched him like he thought he would shatter. He stayed silent, waiting for Keith to realize that it would just be easier if he turned around and never came back. Keith wouldn’t get the message. 

“Why are you here?” Shiro relented, only when he’d reached the bottom of his container and had nothing to do with his hands. He didn’t recognize himself. He hadn’t for a long time.

“I was worried about you. I wanted to see how you were-”

“Bullshit.” Shiro wasn’t angry, just tired. He didn’t have the energy to pretend to be okay anymore, he wasn’t even sure there was anything left of himself to hide.

“Fine. I came to kick your ass over what you did to my bike.” Keith crossed his arms, falling back into easy hostility the same way he did whenever he was afraid. “But I had to kick out some giant ugly douche first.”

Shiro sighed and put a hand to his throat, fingers dancing over the bruised skin. That he remembered. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t call Sendak again, but it was so simple to embrace the familiar hurts to distract him from the others. At least with Sendak, he always knew what to expect. “Good job, you can go now.”

“Is that it?” Keith couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What else do you want from me?” Something seemed to spark inside Shiro, hurt crystalized down into something hard and ugly. “What else do want that you haven’t taken already? That’s all you ever do, Keith. You’re so fucking selfish that you can’t think about anybody but yourself! I don’t have anything left for you, just leave me alone.”

This was better, Keith knew how to fight and he was ready to bite deep, mouth full of blood. “You’re the one who left, not me. You made the decision that you couldn’t trust me and you walked away.”

“ _You cheated on me!”_

“No I didn’t, but you were so quick to believe it. You were looking for the door, I just gave you an out.”

Shiro just stared at Keith in shock, all the air knocked from him like he’d been punched. He staggered, hands gripping the kitchen countertop to keep himself upright. Keith gave him a smile, taking the bitter point. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Shut up!” Shiro grabbed one of the empty glasses by the sink and slammed it into the wall, shards bursting across the floor. “God, it’s never your fucking fault, is it? You take and you use and in the end, it’s everybody else’s fault that they failed you. I loved you, Keith.” His voice cracked with pain. “You threw everything away.”

“I did you a favor!” Keith hissed, kicking chunks of glass across the floor at Shiro. “Your friend Matt was right about the both of us. I might be screwed up, but you’re a mess. You can’t even be honest with me, you’d rather pop pills and drink yourself to death than trust me with anything.”

“How am I supposed to trust you when you’re always pushing me away!” Shiro was yelling now. A storm was raging in his chest and it seemed like the only way to get it out. Maybe that way it would finally stop. “I don’t know if you’re here or what you want. I just wanted-

"I never asked you to love me!” Keith spat. “I never asked you to stay because you don’t. You’re only around when you remember to be. You’re not around when I need you to be. You hide and you lie and you asked me to stay when all you wanted to do was leave!”

Keith was breathing hard, his shoulders trembling with effort, and Shiro didn’t remember taking a step closer, but now Keith was close enough to touch. Shiro’s hands were clenched so tightly his fingers ached, but they felt too heavy to swing. He could see the shadows under Keith’s eyes, the wildness and desperation in them.  _Do it,_ he thought.  _Take the hit_. The tension in the room was suffocating. It filled his nose and coated his teeth, thick like smoke and sharp like metal. They just needed something to break, to crumble it into himself, and if Keith took the first punch maybe Shiro could stop himself from loving him, but he didn’t know if that was true. It hadn’t stopped him from running to Sendak yet.

Keith didn’t move, but Shiro felt like he’d been struck.

He took an unsteady step back, and the movement made Keith flinch.

“You’re right, Keith. I don’t trust you.” Shiro said softly, and it felt like claws were dragging across the inside of his ribs. But the air felt lighter. “You lied to me. You used me and you lied to me. I wasn’t the one who was going to leave, but you made that decision for yourself. I want you to know that you’re the one who ran.”

“You need help.” Keith hissed, gathering up his things to storm out. “I’m not qualified to be your fucking doctor, Shiro. I can’t fix you.”

“I never asked you to. Get out.”

Keith paused in the doorway, unsteady on his feet. Shiro had been right, damn him. Everyone else walked away first and he’d convinced himself that was just the way it was. When they wouldn’t leave, he pushed until they did, always proving himself right. He’d never been the one to leave first. Had it always been this way?

He looked back at Shiro who had slid down to the floor, knees drawn up to his chest and flecks of blood dotting the floor where the broken glass had cut into his bare feet. When Shiro reached for a half-empty bottle, Keith turned to leave and closed the door behind him.

The stolen patch felt heavy in his pocket, guilt lined like lead, but he closed his hands around it and headed off towards the stairwell. If Shiro had taken his heart, then it was a fair enough trade.

 

* * *

 

Hate was an ugly thing, too close to love sometimes to tell the difference. Shiro hated Keith and he hated himself, everything in his life distorting out of shape like a funhouse mirror. None of it was supposed to be this way, he’d had plans. He’d made promises. He’d been someone once. Shiro drank until he couldn’t feel the hate anymore.

This life was suffocating him.

He’d spent years looking for a way to hide and live in that numb, blissful space where he couldn’t feel anything at all. Staying here wasn’t an option anymore. The walls were tainted with memories now, his failure written in every single one. It was only a matter of time until Matt and Allura came knocking again with best intentions and barely disguised pity. Worse, Sendak could find him and Shiro knew he’d never say no. Not when it meant he could forget about anything else for a day, no matter the consequences. He needed to get out and never look

So why not go?

The thought crept up on him and slipped through his defenses when he wasn’t paying attention, and now Shiro had no way of escaping it. He stared unseeingly at shards of broken glass, waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come. It could be a permanent solution, it wouldn’t be the first time he entertained that guest. Shiro waited for the urge to come up, for the recklessness or bravery to sweep through him and all he’d need was the right shard. But it didn’t come, not today at least, not now, and Shiro let his head fall down and quietly called himself a coward. This time he didn’t shake off the insult. But he could still go.

He thought about it, turned the idea around then on its head, clutching his half-empty bottle closer now. His feet still ached, and hunger twisted in his gut with too much heat, but Shiro couldn’t care because this time he could… go. He tried, and he tried, and he tried, but he couldn’t think of anything that kept him in the city. The first time he’d moved, it was to get away from his family’s heavy stares and fractured hopes. All he’d cared about was being somewhere else. Now he could go even further.

He had a tank of gas, and a road-worthy hovercar. If he left, all he would lose was his security deposit. With a wry smile, Shiro doubted he would get that back anyway. He could leave everything behind. There were more memories to shed, more pains to forget, and it filled him with a new light. A weight lifted off his shoulders, one he’d been carrying for so long that he’d forgotten it was there. The promise of a fresh start in a place where no one knew his name, with no one he’d let down. He’d never really stopped chasing it.

Shiro got to his feet slowly, wincing as he put his weight on fresh wounds, but he made no move to pick up the broken pieces of glass. They were just another reminder he wanted to leave behind. Shiro’s apartment was full, but not with anything he cared about keeping. He didn’t need an hour to pack, he didn’t need half of one. It was too easy to leave because Shiro wanted to. 

When he closed the door to his apartment, it was like he could finally breathe again. He had nothing and everything that actually mattered, heady with a sense of freedom. It felt good to finally be moving with purpose and Shiro revved the engine to his car, enjoying the muted spark of excitement that managed to pierce the haze inside of him. A new start, that was all he really needed, someplace so far away that his demons couldn’t follow.

The road stretched out before him, warm afternoon sunlight eased the pounding in his head. He decided to chase the light west, let it lead him as far as he could go before he was forced to stop. It was as much of a plan as anything and the tiniest glimmer of hope was all Shiro needed. He could do this.

That was his last thought before the car drifted, Shiro’s reflexes too dulled by alcohol and pills to notice, and too slow to react. The only sign of trouble was the slight wobble as the hovercar left the road, control slipping away before it was all too late. There was a brief second of confused terror, the sound of metal being torn apart, the taste of blood. There was pain.

And then there was nothing at all.


	9. Chapter 9

Keith didn’t know the garage could be so quiet. It had been a long time since he’d worked alone, and even then, he hadn’t ever been alone, not really. This time Hunk wasn’t out on break or test driving one of their cars. This time Hunk wasn’t coming back. His absence meant more than just a stifling quiet. Keith hadn’t opened up shop in so long, he’d almost forgotten how. It was just one task of many that he’d overlooked. It hadn’t mattered before. He’d had a partner who could pick up his slack. Keith had let a lot fall on Hunk’s shoulders, and even if Keith couldn’t say the words out loud, he knew the garage was just the start.

Keith was elbow deep in the Renegade’s damaged guts. Shiro had known just how to hurt it, and nothing Keith could do seemed to make it better. But too many of the dents and scratches had been there long before Shiro had taken a slice at it. Keith didn’t want to admit that out loud, either.

A sharp ring cut through the air as the phone went off in the office.

“I’m coming!” Keith snapped, even though there was no one there to hear him. There was grease on his hands, and he fumbled, dropping a coil of wires into the Gade’s hood, and he swore. The phone kept ringing. “I’m fucking coming!”

But by the time he tore open the door, the phone had gone quiet, leaving room for dread to settle over his bones.  _We don’t have enough customers for us to miss one._ Hunk’s warning echoed through his head again and again, and this time, Keith had no one else to blame. That was okay. He couldn’t hate himself more than he already did.

Feeling guilty was new, Keith normally found ways to blame everyone but himself, but there was no way to deny things now. He’d fucked up. Keith still clung to the lies that he’d expected this all along. People always left and he always ended up along, that’s the way it had been his entire life and nothing was going to change that now. The only thing that was his fault was that he’d let himself get too close. He’d let himself care about other people even knowing the risks, and in the end, he’d gotten hurt. There would be no way he’d ever make the same mistake again.

Keith snatched the phone and checked for messages, breathing out a small sigh of relief that there was one. Hopefully a client, though for a brief moment, it could have been Hunk ready to crawl back into his life. Now that would have been justice. He probably realized how pathetic Lance really was and wanted to beg for his old job back- The voice on the voicemail was a deeper drawl, but still familiar, and Keith’s petty daydreams were dashed.

“Hey kiddo, it’s your pops. I thought we’d meet for lunch at the diner on Carlyle street, you know the one? You used to love the pickles from there were you were little. Let me know.”

Keith held the phone in his hands. It felt like he was knocked off balance every time he heard from his father. The man had left when he’d been so young, Keith was too old to fall for any of the same broken promises, but there was still a part of him buried deep that leaped with excitement like a little kid. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time, his Dad would stay. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

He knew better, or at least, he thought he did, but Keith replayed the recording before he could stop himself.

 _Yeah,_  he replied by text, didn’t trust himself with his voice. He didn’t ask why? Why now? Why not when I needed you, when I didn’t have to remember?

It was too late not to get his hopes up, even if Keith felt like he was setting himself up to fall. Hope was an illusion made of spun glass, and if he wasn’t careful, it would shatter. Just this once, he wanted someone he could depend on. He refused to think that he pushed away anyone he’d already had.

 

* * *

 

Honeys was the diner on Carlyle Street. It was small, cramped, and the Y on the signboard flickered when it was turned on in the evening. Keith had passed it too often to be surprised it was still in business, but he’d never stopped to visit. There was a time when a milkshake from Honeys was the highlight of his week. Like everything else that had fucked him over, he didn’t like to think about that.

Keith was late. He’d walked. He wrestled with showing up early, then he wrestled with showing up at all. The gnawing pit in the middle of his stomach deepened the longer he stalled. If his Dad wanted to see him, he would wait, but it had been years since his Dad cared enough to bother.

He walked through the front door and almost immediately walked out again. There was no one waiting for him, no one who knew he was there or what he was looking for. Then he saw him, in one of the back booths, looking out the window. He was older and grayer than Keith remembered. Less somehow. From the slump in his shoulders to the stubble that darkened his jaw. Yet he still made Keith’s ribs constrict, and a rush of nostalgia coursed through him, so strong Keith wanted to be nauseous. He hadn’t seen Keith yet, there was still time to leave, but already knew he wasn’t going to. Then his Dad looked up and smiled when he saw him, and it felt like something was finally going to go right.

“Hey, Dad.”

Before he had a chance to sit, his father slid out of the booth and wrapped his arms around Keith, squeezing him tight. After a moment’s shock, Keith relaxed into the touch, breathing in the familiar scent of cigarettes that always seemed to cling to his father’s skin. This was normal, this was family, and a small ball of tension in the pit of his stomach eased slightly. After everything that had happened, it was nice to finally be where he belonged.

“Hi, Kiddo! Wow, look at you.” His dad pulled back, holding Keith out at arm’s length and speaking loud enough that everyone in the diner turned to look at them. “Last I saw you, you were just a scrawny little thing.”

“That’s because you’ve been gone.” Keith said flatly and his Dad’s smile grew sharp he gestured for them both to sit. The weakness was gone before they’d settled, his Dad back to his all too charming self.

“You’re right, that’s my fault. But you’ve grown up into quite the young man!” He said. “Hang on.” His Dad widened his grin at a young waitress approached, leaning in to share a few jokes and a heart-felt compliment that had her answering his smile with one of her own. That was always his skill, the ability to make anyone feel like the most important person in the room. He drew you in like he was sharing some kind of in-joke, always good-natured and laughing. Give him five minutes and he’d have anyone calling him friend. Keith didn’t have any idea how his father managed to make it all look so easy when he couldn’t even figure out how to feel comfortable talking to anyone, let alone a stranger. As she left, he turned that megawatt smile back on Keith. “How’s life been treating ya, kiddo?”

Keith huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to feel like he was seven years old again. “Same old stuff, I guess. I spend most of my time working on cars or racing them. I’m pretty good at it.” He couldn’t help but throw that in, cursing himself for being so desperate to hear any kind of praise from his Dad.

“You always wanted to get behind the wheel.” Then his Dad laughed, and it warmed him all the way down to his toes, a simple, naive rush of affection coloring his thoughts. “Do you remember the time you got stuck on the floor of my truck. You banged your head on the steering wheel and wouldn’t stop crying until we pulled you out.”

“I don’t.”

“You wouldn’t, you were too young,” His Dad said, his voice softening with something Keith didn’t know how to name. “But I do. I think about it all the time.” He was smiling with such easy confidence that Keith found himself believing him, even if he couldn’t, for the life of him remember what he was talking about. When he looked back on this moment, he would still want to believe his father. “Or maybe, that wasn’t you?” He said thoughtfully, more to himself than to Keith, but it twisted the knife in Keith’s side.

He couldn’t even have this one thing, not even one memory of his father without having it snatched away the moment it was offered. The careless dismissal reminded him that he’d never been worth anything to anyone. As if Keith could ever forget that lesson.

“Life on the fast lane treating you okay, or are ya slowing down for anyone?” It was an easy camaraderie that Keith never felt he’d earned, but couldn’t stop himself from falling into it. His Dad knew just how hard to push. 

“There was someone sort of, I mean-” Keith started and stumbled. There were too many words in his head and none of them fit the way he wanted them to. He shrugged, a sharp, jerky motion that made him look like he cared more instead of less. “He couldn’t keep up.”

His Dad just laughed.

“That’s my boy!” He reached across the table to thump Keith on the shoulder. “Men like us aren’t meant to settle.”

Keith recoiled slightly from the touch, rubbing his bruised arm. “That’s not really what I meant.” He said sourly. The mess with Shiro was too complicated and raw to share, especially with someone who barely knew him. He wondered what Shiro was doing now. Still sleeping, maybe, body curled around his pillow with that soft, vulnerable expression he always wore when his eyes were closed. Or maybe working out, pushing himself to his limits for reasons Keith could never understand. Or maybe he was drunk again, half a bottle in and living in the memories he’d never share with Keith. Good riddance.

“It’s alright, kiddo. You’re more like your old man than I thought.” He leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially to Keith with a lascivious wink. “Get yourself one in every city, that way you aren’t tied down.”

Keith swallowed bitter disgust. “Is that why you were never around? You were too busy chasing ass all over the country to ever come home?”

Even Keith’s attitude couldn’t dent his father’s smile. “It’s certainly a perk of the road. C’mon Keith, I know how you think. People are like anchors around your neck, they’ll drag you down and drown you if you’re not careful. We were meant to be free!”

Keith watched his father with that same gleam in his eye that he always had, the same crooked grin. Keith had spent his life wanting to be so much more like him and hating himself for never being enough to keep his father at home. If he’d been a different kid, a better son. He’d guarded himself because his father was the first one to leave and everyone else in his life had just followed in his footsteps.

Now, he could see himself in his father’s face. Lined and older, tired from travel beneath his humor and his charm. His looks fading around the edges but still unable to admit he wasn’t some reckless 20 year old anymore. And completely alone.

“They all want to leave in the end, anyway. A man’s gotta know how to depend on himself and to know what really matters. Family can matter if it keeps up, right son?” He put emphasis on the last part, looking at Keith like he expected him to be flattered. He’d set his hook and knew just how to draw in his son. He didn’t know Keith but he could recognize an angry, lonely man who’d been fighting by himself for too long to deny an ally.

Yet all Keith felt was cold. His words fit his father’s mouth too well.

“I don’t…”

His father didn’t hear him, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to. It was a mercy. Keith didn’t know what he would’ve said.

_I don’t want to be here._

_I don’t want this._

_I don’t want to see you._

“Listen, kid. I wouldn’t be here if there was a way around it. This wasn’t how I was planning things, but I could use a hand. A coupl'a grand’ll make a big difference, and you gotta have cash on hand if you wanna race, right?”

_You only want me when I can give you something._

_I don’t want to be you._

Keith didn’t remember what he answered, if he did at all. He didn’t remember how he left the diner, or the frantic way he tore through the streets for one of those over-priced cabs he couldn’t really afford. It didn’t matter, not with the Gade out of commission and the rest of his life spiraling after it. There was a long list of things Keith didn’t want, but only one person he did. There was one person out there who might still think he mattered. Shiro loved him, if Keith hadn’t ruined that too.

He called him with shaky fingers, watching the world speed by without seeing any of it, but every call went straight to voicemail. Shiro wouldn’t want to see him. Keith couldn’t blame him, but Keith needed one more chance, just one more. He needed to make it right, he needed to- “Shiro!”

Keith was yelling too loudly, banging on Shiro’s door with the same urgency he’d once wasted on anger. “Shiro!”

There was no answer, no matter how he pleaded, and every passing second, cold bands of steel tightened around Keith’s chest, squeezing the air out of him. He almost didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until they were right on top of him.

“Oh.” The woman asked, politely surprised. “Are you here to pick up your things?”

“What? No, I’m looking for Shiro.” Keith furiously wiped his sleeve across his eyes and scowled at the woman for seeing him at his most vulnerable. When she didn’t seem to react, he gestured towards the door. “Tall guy, white bangs, actually lives here?”

“Oh him! I’m so sorry, I thought you knew. People’ve been saying he was in an accident, a real bad one. They said someone was going to be by to clear out the apartment.”

The world slowed to a stop, the woman’s well-intentioned gossip fading to distant muted noise. Everything shut down, Keith felt as if a hand had reached into his chest and flicked a switch, leaving him an empty shell that had no idea how to pretend to be human anymore. He ignored everything, dialing Shiro’s number again with trembling hands and taking three times to get it right.

It rang until the electronic voice of the voicemail picked up and Keith breathed a shuddering sob into the phone. “Please, Shiro. Please be okay. I’m so sorry, please come back. I’m sorry for everything.” He let the message go on silently until the voicemail cut him off and he could only stand there, hands curled around his phone so hard that the plastic dug into his skin, waiting for a message that would never come.

Keith shattered.

Tears streaked down his face as he slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor.  Reality came crashing back and Keith wasn’t strong enough to stand against it. He wasn’t strong enough to do anything anymore, and he didn’t care who saw. The woman hovered anxiously over him, offering some kind of condolences, but none of that was ever going to bring Shiro back to him.

He’d been such an idiot. Selfish. Cruel. “I’m sorry.”

Shiro would never get to hear him say that now. That was his fault, Keith didn’t have to have hurt him. He could have told Shiro how important he was. That Keith  _loved_ him more than he’d ever loved anyone, and how much it terrified him to admit that.

“Is there someone I can call?”

It was the only question Keith managed to hear, and he tucked his face into his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. He ought to tell her something, anything. It was good of her to care, Keith was the sort of person who would’ve left immediately, but that was why he was here in the first place. Because there wasn’t anyone left. He’d pushed them all away.

Keith shook his head and asked her to leave.

He sat there until he lost feeling in his legs and his nerves prickled with pain, then he sat for a little longer. There was nowhere else Keith wanted to be. Everything seemed to move too quickly outside, and Keith could barely keep himself together enough to keep moving. There was nowhere he wanted to be. The thought of Shiro somewhere under a white sheet made him ill. Let Matt find him, or Capt. Allura. Keith didn’t know where to start and thinking about it only made his hands shake, and then he couldn’t stop himself from crying. His apartment seemed too far away, and even then, Keith didn’t want to be there, alone with thoughts he didn’t trust and memories that would learn to haunt him.

So he walked, with his head down and his eyes glazed. He called two more times and hung up on voicemail twice. The sun went down and the air grew cold, and Keith didn’t even notice, until he tried to make another call and found his phone dead.

He didn’t mean to, but he found himself at an address he’d only ever read on forms. There was music inside and the sound of voices. Keith couldn’t muster up enough shame to turn away. When he opened the door, Hunk took one good look at him and pulled him into a hug.

“I messed up.” Keith babbled into Hunk’s shoulder, not bothering to hide his tears. What was the point of pretending now when he’d already lost everything. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t want to be like him.”

“Come on.” Hunk gently led Keith into his apartment and back into the relative privacy of his bedroom. He pulled Keith down to sit on the bed, wrapping the smaller man in his arms and letting Keith cry until there was nothing left and he slumped against Hunk in exhaustion. Each shallow breath shuddered through Keith, leaving him numb.

“Hey Hunk, is everything-” Lance hovered in the doorway worriedly, but Hunk just shooed him away. He left, but was gone only a few minutes before he was back with a bottle of water, holding it out to Keith like a peace offering. “Here, drink this.”

Keith wrapped his hands around the cool plastic and curled in on himself, miserable. “I didn’t mean to just show up here.”

“It’s okay, Keith.” Hunk murmured. “Just tell me what happened.”

“M-My Dad.” Everything in him screamed to lock down, to hide behind the walls that had protected him since he was a little kid and retreat away from their kindness. It was all a trap, he could hear the voice in his head saying. It sounded just like his father. Keith shoved it down, too tired to pretend. The words tumbled out in broken fragments, barely incoherent. “I don’t want to end up like him. Shiro had an accident and, a-and…he’s gone.”

Hunk and Lance exchanged a look as Hunk pulled Keith in tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I did this, I ruined everything.” The plastic bottle crinkled in Keith’s tightening grip. “I fucked it up with you, too.”

Hunk’s arms were a grounding weight across his shoulders, steady and comforting and Keith hadn’t noticed how much he missed being held. Shiro had always been there, Keith didn’t even need to ask, and the nights were colder for it. There was so much pulling at him at once, leaving him battered and broken. Maybe Keith could understand a little of why Shiro had sought oblivion at the bottom of a bottle.   
  
“I need help. I can’t do this anymore.” Keith whispered softly, vulnerable like he never wanted to be but too exhausted to put up a fight.   
  
“You don’t have to.” Hunk said, and Keith could feel the rumble of his voice against his side. It was soothing. Keith hadn’t come so close to peace in a long time. “You can change. I know you can. I want you to get better dude. You just - you have to be sure. It’s just…”  
  
Hunk broke off, looking uncomfortable. Keith looked up at him, gently squeezing his hand.   
  
“I don’t know where I stand with you.” Hunk said, each word chosen with careful intent. “You weren’t always my friend. You weren’t much of a business partner either, I just, I don’t know if I’m the guy you wanna…”  
  
“I’m sorry Hunk.” Keith said. He was surprised by how badly he meant it. Hunk looked surprised too. “I messed everything up. I didn’t think. I wasn’t thinking for a long time. The shop’s always been more yours than mine. I should’ve… I should’ve seen how much I depended on you.”

A smile flickered across Lance’s face, as if he’d been waiting for Keith to say those words. Keith didn’t expect his compassion, but now that Lance had dropped his fierce protector role, he seemed almost bearable. “Go on and drink something.” Lance said, not unkindly. “You look pretty worse for wear. I’ll give you two a minute.”

He lingered in the doorway, searching his best friend’s face with a serious frown. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a few.” Hunk said with a wan smile and Lance nodded, not willing to leave until he knew for sure. Once the door closed quietly, he squeezed his arm around Keith. “I’m glad you wanna make a change. I think for tonight, you should stay here, you’re not in any shape to be alone.”

“But-” Keith grasped on to the lifeline Hunk had thrown him, even if he wasn’t sure it was real. After everything he’d done to hurt everybody around him, this was more than he deserved. “You don’t have to do all this.”

“What are friends for, dude?” Hunk tipped Keith over onto the bed and Keith was too tired to resist. “Rest now, then we’ll figure out what that next step is gonna be. We’ll find the right person for you to talk to, the right doctor, whatever. I’ll be there every step of the way.”

“Thank you.” Keith had never meant those words so much in his life. Hope was a strange and welcome feeling, soothing what was left of his heart.

Tomorrow came quickly, but this time it was gentle. Keith stayed in bed until past noon, drifting in and out of consciousness and finally letting himself rest. When he pulled himself out of bed, he found that Hunk left a note and a spare key and more pancakes than Keith knew what to do with. It was… nice.    
  
Hunk was tired and covered in grease when he got home, but he smiled when he saw that Keith was still around.   
  
“You uh… You work with Lance now?” Keith asked. Hunk hesitated but shrugged through it when Keith offered him a smile and dinner. “How is it?”  
  
“Um. Different. Took some getting used to. Less freedom, but more clients. I haven’t been able to like, build my own stuff yet but it’s only a matter of time.” Hunk said and Keith pushed a takeout container at him.   
  
“Do you like it there?”   
  
Hunk ducked his head, scratching through his hair until his headband was knocked askew. “I think I could.”  
  
“Good. That’s really good, Hunk.”  
  
“Really?” Hunk asked, clearly dubious.  
  
Keith paused, and shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”  
  
They tried to figure out clinics later. Keith hadn’t intended it but he stayed with Hunk for the better part of the week, returning home only to gather a change of clothes. And Shiro’s Rocketman patch. It sat in his pocket on most days, a steadying wait that he could always count on, and as he ran his fingers along its edge, it reminded him of why he needed to change.

It was a quiet and unexpectedly welcome change of pace. Lance was over more than Keith expected, almost every day to plaster himself against his best friend’s side, and Keith realized just how difficult he’d made things for Hunk.   
  
When Lance wasn’t looking for a fight, he was almost bearable. As long as he and Keith weren’t talking. 

When his confidence faltered, they were there to help him and refused to let him back down on the days when ignoring his problems seemed easier than trying to open up to someone who could help. It took three attempts to find a therapist that Keith could trust enough to talk to, and Hunk was at his side each time, never judging when he failed but always gently pushing him to try again. Keith thought this must be what real friendship was like.

His phone was ignored most days. He’d turned it off after his father tried to call him again, laughing at how Keith had been “too sensitive” and how he’d still needed money. Keith had hung up before his father finished his pitch. His Dad might have been the one to leave, but Keith decided that was one door he didn’t need to leave open. He’d seen his future in his father’s face, shallow and lonely and selfishly using everyone around him. Whenever his resolve wavered, he held on to that image and kept going.

When it did ring again, it took him by surprise, like he’d forgotten he’d even owned one. He answered with a short greeting and almost dropped it to the ground.

“Hey, Keith.”

“ _Shiro?!”_

 

* * *

 

There was a ringing in his ear, as heavy and twice as intense as the pounding bass of a marching band. It dulled into a sharp rapping that echoed from his left. Shiro could barely get his eyes open enough to see the stranger’s face, pale in concern as they tried to get his door open. All that mattered was the pain in his shoulders and the ache in his neck. It felt like his teeth were banging around in his skull, and even if he could move his legs, he didn’t want to try. His hands were still braced on the steering wheel, but his grip had slackened until he was barely holding it all.

“I’m calling the police!” Someone yelled. Shiro closed his eyes and gave in.

He was in the hospital when he woke up next, and everything was too loud, and too bright, in a private room without a window. They had pumped his stomach, removed his damaged prosthetic, tending to his cuts and bruises. He didn’t remember that, nor did he remember the way he screamed for help, begged for his mom to come back. He didn’t remember a lot of things, and that was mercy. But it was impossible to forget the woman in a corner, soft and approachable in an oversized t-shirt and jogging pants.

The last time he’d seen Allura, it was on a newsfeed. She was in uniform and discussing the future of interstellar travel. It was how most of the world knew her, and how Shiro remembered her on most days, but this version of her was the one who’d taught him how to spar, who always bet she could bench press more than him, and who liked to start her history papers three hours before they were due. There were dark circles under her eyes like she hadn’t been sleeping right, and her long white hair was falling out of its ponytail. Shiro didn’t know how badly he missed her until it hit him like a freight train.

“Hey.” He croaked. He couldn’t recognize his own voice but she smiled at him anyway, a fragile, uncertain thing that Shiro automatically wanted to make better.

“Hey yourself.” She got up and gently combed his bangs out of his face, and Shiro let out a ragged breath, turning into her palm. Her fingers were calloused, but gentle, and something in his chest expanded, rising until it lodged in his throat, choking him with all the words he never said and all the years he wasted.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and it rattled him to his bones. “I’m not okay.”

“I’m here to help you, Shiro. Matt’s here too. You’re going to get through this.” She sounded so sure that Shiro wanted to believe her. Allura always did have an easy way of taking command, it was one of the many things he admired so much about her. If she was here, then he could trust that everything would all be okay again, somehow.

‘What happened?” He managed to ask as she held a straw to his lips and helped him take a few swallows of cool water that burned against his raw throat.

“There was an accident, but you don’t have to worry about that now. You need to rest.” She didn’t invite arguing and Shiro had to smile. Truth be told, he’d missed her more than he had words for.

“I’m sorry. Tell Matt I’m sorry.” He murmured, but she shushed him before he had a chance to speak again.

“Sleep, we’ll talk when you wake up.”

Shiro had been running from that conversation for so long that when it finally came, it seemed almost anti-climactic. He didn’t know why he’d always been so afraid. Looking into the faces of his friends and family, he didn’t see that judgement or disappointment he’d been so afraid of, he’d just seen fear and worry. They loved him and wanted him safe and Shiro didn’t know what he’d done to deserve any of this support, especially after he’d let them all down over the past few years.  They stayed with him as his body began to mend, and then as he began to mend his life.

When it was time to finally face the consequences of his actions, he made the decision to reach out and take the help he’d been offered. No one had been hurt in the crash except for himself, which was lucky. The sentencing was minimal, no jail time if he sought treatment, which Shiro thought was more than fair. Rehab had always seemed like admitting he’d failed and been unable to take care of the problem on his own. He’d gone so long without even seeing it all as a problem, but it was all impossible to ignore now.

He’d never seen his parents cry so much. It was almost funny what stayed with him. They’d driven him to the rehab center and hugged him like they would never see him again. Shiro wished a lot of things, but mostly he wished he hadn’t wasted so much time running. From everyone.

The detoxification had been brutal. There were times he’d felt like he was dying, times he begged for it, and the loneliness was the kindest of all the hardships he had to endure. At least that much was over now. Shiro almost didn’t believe it. What came next was as hard and Shiro had put off calling until he could figure out how to begin.

“It’s been a while.”

Keith held his breath in case this was all some sort of dream and the barest change could shatter it. In his mind, the dead had come back to speak. He had done his best not to know what happened to Shiro, it was enough that if they were giving away his belongings, he wasn’t going back. Knowing anything about the accident or what had happened was irrelevant. Keith had tainted their memories together enough, he didn’t want to know how Shiro had suffered. And if this wasn’t real, he wanted to hang on to it as long as he could.

“I thought you were gone.” Keith whispered the words. Shiro was ready to hear him sound so soft.

“I didn’t mean to go, I just-” There was no easy answer, but Shiro was learning how to face that, too. It felt like he’d come so far, but Shiro knew he was just facing the start of recovery. As long as he could think, this had been on his mind. He still wasn’t ready. “I messed up, Keith. I messed up a lot, and I called because. I wanted to apologize.” The words tangled on his tongue, stretching into gibberish and fading into blind emotions. He’d practiced this. He’d spoken the words out loud where no one could hear them and pretended they could ever be perfect enough. There was no easy way to say he wished he could have been good enough for them both. Or that Keith could destroy him.

“I got your voicemail. I’m sorry,” Shiro tried again and had to stop, bracing as heat prickled at the back of his eyes. Not now. Not like this. He cleared his throat, hoped Keith wouldn’t notice the way his voice wavered before he found his strength. “I know it’s been a long time coming, but I wanna pay you back for the Gade. And I just…”  _I wanted to hear you one last time._

“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter.” Keith rushed to fill any pause, wishing he could reach through the phone and touch Shiro just to make sure his friend was really there, really alive and safe. “Just forget it, I don’t care.”

“It matters, Keith.” Shiro said, quiet but firm. “I need to take responsibility for the things I did. I hurt a lot of people and I spent too long just denying that anything was wrong. I  _have_  to face the consequences, it’s the only way that I’m going to be able to get through this.”

Keith went silent, listening to the soft sound of Shiro breathing on the other end. It would be easy to try and sweep it all under the rug, but they weren’t doing that anymore. Shiro was right, they both had to face what was wrong. “Okay. You’re right. But tell me you’re okay first, I thought you were dead. I was so scared I lost you.”

“I was a little banged up, but I’m doing better. I feel better.” Small steps forward and infinitesimal progress, but at least it felt like it was all in the right direction. “I decided that I couldn’t keep making the same mistakes over again. I got rid of everything, checked into rehab. I’ve been there ever since.”

“That’s…good. You’re getting help.” Keith could almost feel Shiro smile, the humor sparking in his eyes at how Keith stumbled over his own tongue. God, he missed that smile. “I’ve been trying to get help too. I put you through shit, Shiro. I lied to you, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate that.” There was no quick acceptance or dismissive ‘It’ll be okay.” It was never going to be okay. Keith was learning that an apology didn’t always fix the damage he caused, but he offered it with nothing but sincerity and no expectations.

Keith gathered his courage and his traitorous hope, closed his eyes. “Can I come to see you?”

There was a hesitation, a hitch in Shiro’s breathing before a soft sigh. “I don’t think so. I can’t be what you need, Keith. I can’t even be what  _I_  need, and I need to focus on getting better before anything else. I can’t fuck this chance up.”

“Oh.”

A single sound over a thousand miles. It was enough to wreck Shiro. It made his chest feel like it caved in, and he slumped heavily against the wall, trying to catch his bearings. He wanted to throw everything away. The pastel walls of rehab sometimes felt too constricting. The lack of privacy and regimented days grated on his nerves, and Shiro wasn’t always sure it was helping. Sometimes he screamed at the orderlies who didn’t deserve it, picked fights with a therapist he knew he could take down. There were days he’d kill for another drink, and the worst part was knowing that it wasn’t always nightmares and fear that drove him there. Sometimes it was just himself.  

Recovery wasn’t pretty or easy, but for the first time in a long time, Shiro could safely say that he was in the right.

Keith had gone quiet on the line, and Shiro tightened his grip on the phone. “I’m sorry.” He said, and the honesty of it shook him to his core.

“Do you have anyone?” Keith asked softly. Shiro cringed at the question, but Keith was already rushing to explain himself. “Someone who’s looking out for you. Like Matt.”

“I’ve got people.” Shiro said, both relieved and surprised, and he let the gratitude settle along his skin. He’d dreaded this conversation for days. It had been all he could think about, and this was more than he’d hoped for. Everything he’d expected had ended in fire and brimstone. “What about you?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I think I do, too.” There was hesitation in every word, a new uncertainty in Keith’s voice. Shiro wanted to soothe it away, but Keith was still one step ahead of him. “I’m glad. I’m glad you’re okay. I never told you when I had the chance. I was really messed up. I don’t think I even really knew, but I loved you, Shiro. I loved you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone and I wish things had turned out differently.”

Keith exhaled shakily, his voice wet with emotion and more vulnerable than Shiro was ready to face. “I wish I had been different.”

“It was just the wrong time.” Regret was an unwelcome friend and loss too familiar. Keith  _loved_  him, it was everything he’d ever wanted and taken from him all in the space of a heartbeat. They could have pretended it would have worked and enjoyed the good days they had together, there’d been so many good days. Shiro could have almost convinced himself it could have all been like that.

But a dream was all it was. He was sick and he couldn’t get better on his own. He couldn’t be the person Keith needed until he faced his own demons. They would promise each other everything, and fall back into old habits, tearing each other down bit by bit. It couldn’t have lasted, but that didn’t make it any less real.

“Do you think we could have made it work?” Keith asked, begging for the lie even if he already knew the truth.

“I don’t know, maybe someday? But I love you, Keith.” Love just wasn’t always enough.

 _Please don’t leave me._  Keith swallowed the words and stomped down the rising edge of hysteria when everything inside of him wanted to throw himself to his knees and beg Shiro to stay.  _I can change, I can’t lose you again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_.

Instead, Keith smiled shakily as his heart broke and his eyes prickled with tears. Being selfish had almost ruined him, it was time to start over. It was time to let go.

“Goodbye, Shiro.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Are you going to keep up?”

Shiro flashed Allura a grin, barely breathing hard even though they were already a few miles into their daily run. He’d been the one to suggest they start working out again, greeting each morning with a run to wake up, followed by breakfast before they started the day. It used to be their tradition back in the Garrison, and the sharp challenging barbs hadn’t changed one bit even if everything else had.

It was a small thing, but it was one piece of his life that he’d reclaimed. One step. He’d learned to stop thinking about how overwhelmingly impossible it felt to face his demons and focused on the little victories. One day without drinking, one phone call to a friend he hadn’t talked to in months, making it to one addicts anonymous meeting. Some days it was as small as being able to get out of bed and shower or to remember his medication.

It didn’t always work, the dark days still loomed and he never stopped wanting that blissed out numbness when the pain arced through him or the world was just too much. He slipped and he failed, but he let people help him back to his feet and tried again. Eventually, Shiro started noticing that the good days seemed to outnumber the bad. He learned to celebrate the accomplishment and it helped that he had people willing to celebrate with him.

“Oh please, I’m letting you win.” Shiro kept pace easily, not pushing too hard. It wasn’t a race no matter how Allura needled him, all he wanted to do was enjoy the cool crispness of the morning with the sun just peeking over the edge of the city. It brought a wave of gentle warmth as it spilled along the sidewalks and Shiro breathed in deeply, filling his lungs.

Besides, they had a habit of getting too competitive when they let themselves.

Outside their little bubble, the city still slept, and they moved like mice through its alleys. The streets were dotted with other early morning joggers. They were few and far between, but they were also familiar faces and nicknames Shiro had slowly learned to recognize. It was an achievement in and of itself. He had enough stability in his routine to know new people again, even if it was just someone to nod at before they crossed the intersection.

Shiro let himself be lulled by the sweat on his skin, the weight of his water bottle, the steady push of the asphalt up his legs. The end was in sight, stop sign a few blocks down. They were making good time. Shiro almost didn’t want it to end. Then Allura’s hand was on his elbow, stilling him with just a touch, and they changed routes, almost like she was reading his mind.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already.” She said, each word punctuated with a ragged breath.

“Just concerned about your delicacies, princess.” Sarcasm was less effective when he was wheezing it out, but Allura laughed anyway. They weaved a path through the city like the sounds of traffic were chasing them, and the air warmed with the rising sun. There wasn’t much thought in the decision, just the need to keep running, but Shiro recognized when the streets grew familiar.

The asphalt craked along jagged lines. The city always had its priorities and this neighborhood wasn’t one of them. They ought to turn back. It was never a good idea to risk a twisted ankle, but Shiro kept pushing, just a little more, just a little farther. Allura trusted him enough to want to see where he went.

An old, worn building, its doors dusty and lot unkempt came into view. The garage looked like it had been closed for a long time.

Shiro didn’t slow down when he passed, but part of him wished he did. Allura turned down an alley, checking the GPS on her wrist to check their route, and Shiro touched the small of her back.

“I’m done for today. Can we go in?”

There was one thing he always appreciated about Allura. From the very beginning, she’d never held it against him when he wanted to stop.

There were things that were harder to surrender, like memories of the boarded up garage back when its doors had been open and someone was waiting for him inside. He hadn’t seen Keith in a year since he’d hit rock bottom and spent months trying to climb himself out of the pit he’d spent so long digging. He had been tempted to call just to hear Keith’s voice and he spent countless nights wondering if Keith was doing better without him.

He couldn’t have made it work like he was, but that didn’t stop how much he’d loved Keith. It hurt less now, he couldn’t afford to keep looking backwards without sliding and he wasn’t going to lose control again. Shiro glanced back, the garage already out of sight, but he wondered where Keith was now.

Shiro hoped he was happy.

“You okay?” Allura knew him too well, it was a blessing and a curse never to be able to keep things from her. He’d promised himself he’d be honest from now on, no more keeping secrets even if they were hard to admit. Especially if they were.

“Just feeling a little nostalgic. I’m okay though, more tired than anything.”

Allura laughed and elbowed him in the stomach until Shiro _oomfed_. “I thought you weren’t tired. You’re getting old, you can barely keep up now.”

“And I guess we’ll just ignore the fact you’re sweating like a pig in a sauna?” Shiro teased right back, earning an indignant _hrumph_ as Allura refused to dignify that with a response. She always liked to think she was too important to deal in common insults, but Shiro had seen her when she was riled and she’d earned her reputation as one of the best and scariest pilots at the Garrison. Her team thrived under her command, but she ran them ragged. He knew the feeling.

“Come back and get cleaned up, I’ll make you some breakfast.” She said, competition immediately forgotten (mainly because she’d won.) “Are you still free to watch the kid this afternoon?” Her daughter was Allura in miniature and just as headstrong as both her moms. Shiro absolutely adored her. As long as he played princess ninjas, he was pretty sure she liked him, too.

“Nari told me to tell you that her meeting might run a little late. She’s not sure what time she’ll get home, so you might have to feed and water the tyke.”

“I’ll do my best.” Shiro promised, and it was good that he could take the added responsibility in stride.

Allura clicked her tongue, hiding a smile behind her water bottle, before she asked, “You know, she likes to think that she’s babysitting you.”

She was waiting for a reaction, and Shiro laughed on cue, but something about that made his heart flutter. Not babysitting, no, but Allura and her family had embraced him when he needed it, and if anyone wanted to take credit for making sure he wasn’t licking electric sockets, they had a better shot than most. Without warning, he inched closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Allura grunted, polite confusion crossing her features, but she allowed it.

She asked her questions with just her smile, and Shiro shrugged them away. “Nothing… Just want you to know that if there’s crayon all over your bedroom wall again, you should blame the babysitter.”

She swatted at him, and he skipped away laughing, and it was good. It had been good for a long time, and now, Shiro honestly thought it would last.

 

* * *

 

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“Go away.”

“How’re we supposed to get any work done if you keep doing it wrong?”

“You were a lot nicer back when you used to work with me.” Keith said with a scowl.

Hunk only smiled sweetly, not looking up. “And now you work for me.”

Keith snorted as Lance laughed in the background, but it wasn’t unfriendly banter. After everything they’d done for him, even he couldn’t deny they were right. They’d saved his life when he’d been so demanding and cruel, they’d offered him kindness when he’d been so unused to anyone caring at all. Hunk had helped him even when Keith had been impatient and frustrated, ready to just give up when things got to be too hard. Even Lance had helped, offering a place for Keith to stay when he wasn’t sure where else to go.

More than anything, they stayed with him when it would have been so much easier to walk away. It had taken a long time to trust that patience and friendship, but he was learning. No one ever said that being a real friend was going to be easy, and most days, Lance was the one who tested that theory the most.

He leaned back and wiped a greasy hand across his forehead, gesturing to the engine. “Go ahead and check if you think I did it wrong.” Keith let a small smile curl around the edges of his lips as Hunk scanned his work, giving a small grunt of satisfaction. If there was anything Keith could still count on, it was his skills. It was nice to have something that he could always be proud of, especially when the rest of it was still a work in progress.

“This is looking pretty great, actually. All the new upgrades seem to be working well, I think this thing is going to go fast enough to pull the skin right off your face!” Hunk beamed. “The maneuverability is way up too, hopefully that’ll keep you from wrecking it.”

Keith had been working with Hunk for months, but it was still instinct to look over his shoulder. Working for a semi-legitimate business changed things. They had real customers and a real work load, but as long as their boss got a fraction of their winnings, he turned a blind eye when they brought their “projects” into the garage. It had taken Keith time to get accustomed to the structure of work, but he was grateful that Hunk got him the job and even more grateful that Hunk was the supervisor he had to work with. 

His friend had been right. They sacrificed freedom for the sake of a steady pay check, and Keith didn’t like it, but he was also building up his savings. Someday he was going to be able to reopen his garage, and take the work he wanted to. With any luck, that day would be sooner than later, and Hunk would be willing to take the risk with him.

“I’m getting better at that.” Keith defended, without any real heat, and Hunk laughed. Red hadn’t flown in a long time, but he fully intended to return to the underground race scene. Keith didn’t know if he’d ever walk away completely, but he could afford to care more about cracking his head open. And losing no longer dragged him into a tailspin.

“Kogane!”

They both looked up as the garage manager called, making his way over from his corner office. In his hand was a data sheet. Keith immediately tensed.

“You handled the Ranger work last week? The one with the 4.2L AT?”

"Yeah, why?” Keith asked, already wary, but his boss hadn’t noticed.

“We got a complaint. You messed up the mods.” He said, almost more interested in scanning his report, but he fixed Keith with a pointed stare. “Do better next time.”

Keith could feel his hackles rise. He knew his own worth and his own skills, there was no chance he messed up an order that simple. If the customer wasn’t happy, then they were a liar. He opened his mouth to snap back, baring his teeth like an animal.

And then stopped.

He took a breath and then another, struggling to hold on to his control. His fingers twitched, and he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, tracing along the worn edge of an old patch. They’d been working on it, his therapist slowly convincing Keith to try. No more lashing out, no more dangerous impulsive decisions that ended up costing him in the future. He needed to learn how to accept that he couldn’t change people and that he couldn’t bully them into obedience. No more being selfish. It didn’t always work and if he was honest, he failed more times than he succeeded, but he was _trying_.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Keith said, proud that he’d kept any trace of anger from his voice. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

The garage manager nodded and went to pounce on his next victim, berating them for an incorrectly placed order. Hunk smiled approvingly, giving Keith a friendly slap on the shoulder, but didn’t comment. There had been a time when Keith thought getting attached to other people made him weak, but he’d been so wrong. Having friends and being part of a team made him better, if that meant he had to learn how to get along, then he would. They could still end up leaving him in the end, but there was no way to tell until he opened himself up enough to try.

“Hey, dude.” Lance’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Did you bring anything for lunch today? I was thinking we could go to the soup place two blocks over. I’m kinda dying for some good chicken noodle and I’m freezing my nips off in this garage today. They’re really pretty nips, I’d prefer to keep ‘em.”

“I think I just lost my appetite.” Keith was willing to bet that he’d never want to eat again. Lance preened, and Hunk was terribly, hopelessly charmed.

“They really are nice, dude.” Hunk insisted, a little too sincerely. “I think we’ve got a delivery menu somewhere? I could go for chicken noodle. Ooh and wantons.” He reached for his toolbox, but Keith waved him off.

“It’s okay, I’ll make a run. I need to get out of here anyway” Hunk looked like he was going to protest, but the more Keith thought about it, the better the idea seemed. He’d averted a crisis, but if he was being honest, watching their manager made something heavy sit in the pit of his stomach. The only real cure for that was time, and Keith had a more enjoyable way to pass it. “Besides, I’ve wanted to take a test drive all morning.”

A smile sneaked across his face when Keith wasn’t looking, and he sent his hoverbike an appreciative glance. Months of toiling had recreated the Renegade. Its engine was more solid, more powerful and more stable. Its body shone in his typical sleek blacks and reds, but surreptitiously tucked away on the dashboard, just where Keith could see it, was the silhouette of a pair of stylized glasses, painted orange.

“The Rocketman,” Lance said from across the way, whistling long and low. “I still think that’s a really stupid name.”

And to his surprise, Keith nodded as he ran his hand affectionately over the steering wheel.

“Yeah. I do, too.”

 

* * *

 

Traffic was terrible. Shiro thought that every time he tried to go anywhere. If the Garrison didn’t provide on-site staff housing, he would probably never get to work. Nowadays, he liked to go places he could walk. He’d found new comfort in the steady feel of the earth beneath his feet. Sometimes it seemed like a silly notion, but he did what he had to in order to keep himself stable, and he was very forgiving of the methods that worked. Besides, the alternative was this, sitting in a taxi, waiting for his hair to turn grey or traffic to move, whatever came first really.

Cab fare in the city was always a little ridiculous, but Shiro wasn’t ready for the alternative. He’d been saving ever since he got his job, hoping to buy another hovercraft. Repairing his old one wasn’t worth it, and it gave him something to look forward to. Except his goal came and went, and Shiro hadn’t found it in himself to make a purchase. He started using it as a theoretical award for his progress. Two months sober meant a fancy new car. Then two months turned into three, and three into six, and the idea of driving anything still made him cold inside.

He was working his way up to it. He’d been stuck as a theory instructor for obvious reasons. He hadn’t been behind the wheel of a road-ready vehicle in months, but Shiro refused to believe it would be forever. He needed more time… And there was nothing wrong with that.

The cab driver was honking his horn, like he could push hard enough to move the car in front of them, and Shiro could almost ignore it, more relieved that they could finally cross the intersection. Then everything stopped.

It was a near miss. Two cars wanted to be where there was only space for one. The cab pitched forward, thrusters in reverse. Horns howled. They were losing altitude, dipping forward with a sickening lurch, and Shiro’s heart stopped.

It took the driver no more than three seconds to regain his barrings, but Shiro couldn’t find his.

“I-I have to go.” Shiro mumbled to himself as the driver yelled at the car in front of them that had stopped short, swearing loudly. Shaking hands could barely find his credit card to pay before he scrambled for the door, desperately prying it open. He stumbled from the cab and lurched out onto the sidewalk, the driver calling out unintelligibly behind him.

His chest felt tight, heart racing and banging hard enough against his ribs to hurt. His stomach clenched and roiled, sickness crawling up into his throat until he thought it was going to choke him. In a split second, the world had been thrown sideways, forcing him back into a crashing plane with alarms blaring and the ground rushing up to meet them. They were going to die like this, they were all going to die and it was his fault he couldn’t save them.

 _This isn’t real_. Shiro leaned against the rough brick of the closest building and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing air into his lungs through his nose and out through his mouth. The doctors and the medications couldn’t stop this completely, but he was going to get through this. _It’s not real. It’s going to pass. Breathe, it’s not real._

Shiro repeated the mantra to himself until the pain in his chest eased and he could finally open his eyes again. Sweat trickled down his back and his skin felt clammy, but the world hadn’t ended. He was going to be okay, these episodes weren’t forever even if they left him feeling weak and shaky at the end.

He took his time, not rushing himself or berating himself for his weakness. He was sick, the doctors had said that the PTSD and panic attacks could be controlled, but they might never go away. The best he could hope for was a better way to control them, and he wasn’t going to let himself feel ashamed for not being able to snap his fingers and fix his problems. The alternative was in the bottom of a bottle, so numb he couldn’t think or feel, and every time he managed to get through one of these attacks without turning to the ease of a bottle, it was a win even if it didn’t feel like one.

Shiro swiped a hand across his face, wiping away the tears that had broken free. He could still smell ash and gasoline so strong the taste prickled the back of his throat, but this was progress. He felt the ground beneath his feet, let the angry cries of traffic bring him back to the present. _This was progress._

The errands Shiro’d expected run no longer seemed important. Progress sometimes meant being kind enough to let himself procrastinate. His next class wasn’t for a few hours, and he was in no rush to get back into another car. The Garrison could wait.

Shiro let his feet carry him, more concerned with soothing his frayed nerves and calming his frantic heart than his destination. He found himself down an neighborhood he’d only ever passed in the air before. He’d always told himself that he’d jog through it some time, try the little bakery at the corner with the fancy chairs or maybe the homey diner that always spelled ‘strawbery’ on its window display wrong. It was nice that he’d found time to explore, Shiro told himself. The silver linings made things more bearable. Shiro invested more and more in learned optimism. That too didn’t always work, and some days, it could turn on him, but sometimes it did. Shiro breathed a little easier.

He was lured in by the promise of _strawbery_ pie, unaware that there was a polished hoverbike parked behind the building or a soup order just being handed over. Attention drawn to the overhead menu, he didn’t notice the dark-haired young man counting his change at the counter, not even when he dropped his keys and needed a second to find them. A beat passed, and then another, an almost-maybe-possibly fading away before Shiro had even noticed. Keith walked out the door and Shiro turned to a polite waiter who offered him a seat at the counter, and that should have been that.

Then, with his arms filled with soup and his thoughts mostly on the sky, Keith bumped into a man holding five leashes, and a swarm of yippy, fluffy clouds attacked him.

Keith went down with a shriek and a soup tsunami. The dogs were not pleased, tangling around him in knots as they barked and squeaked. Tiny little teeth attacked him on every side as they tried to chew the soup off of him and he swatted at the poofballs while their owner apologized, trying to pull the dogs away. Keith curled his lips, snarling at them as they ignored him completely, intent on licking him to death.

“Get off, god damn it!” He smushed one of the mutt’s faces and almost lost a finger. Who owned dogs like this, they weren’t even dogs anymore! They were just hairy round potatoes with legs who made too much damn noise.

“I’ve got ya.” Keith was plucked off the floor and hauled up easily into a pair of arms that lifted him like he was nothing. They set him on his feet and handed him a fistful of napkins to mop up the soup. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” He opened his mouth to follow it up with something snarky and bitter, but froze when he saw a familiar face hovering over him worriedly. He’d daydreamed about this moment for an entire year, though he’d never really imagined it like this. Keith wondered if there was any possibility that the floor could open up and swallow him. “Takashi!”

“Hey, Keith.” Shiro said the name with a smile, Keith didn’t miss that and he hope he didn’t imagine the warmth too. It could have been all in his head, too much wanting and hoping and oh god, this soup was _scalding hot_.

Keith winced, pulling his soggy shirt away from his skin. “It’s been a while.” Lame.

Shiro just laughed and propelled Keith towards the bathroom, away from the squad of death mutts who pounced on the soupy mess on the floor. “Looks like you’ve been busy fighting off the hordes of ankle wolves. C’mon, let me help get you cleaned up.”

That was how they found themselves sitting across from each other, Keith with tissues stuffed down his shirt, and Shiro infinitely pleased that Keith was wearing his jacket. Keith’s had been left to dry on a chair. The farthest thing on their mind was soup.

Keith couldn’t stop staring. No matter how pointedly he looked away, Shiro drew him in with a magnetism he’d always taken for granted. He risked glance after glance, and every time his heart surged until Keith didn’t know what to do with himself. Shiro looked good. He’d always looked attractive, but now he looked like he was whole. He’d never been slender, but he’d gained weight, filled up with more than just muscle. The shadows under his eyes were gone, and he’d lost his sallow complexion. He looked happy. Keith wondered if he’d ever really looked happy when they were together.

“Hey th-”

“You look-”

They started and stopped at the same time, too ready to share a laugh, and Keith was eager to overlook how nervous it sounded. He gestured for Shiro to go first, and Shiro scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

“Sorry, it’s just… You look good, Keith. I liked the hair. It suits you.”

Keith resisted the urge to reach up and touch his ponytail, it was messy and only existed to keep loose strands out of his face. It was a product of negligence instead of style. The past few months had been hectic, and even after things calmed down, a haircut had never been a priority. He completely missed the self-conscious way Shiro laughed.

Shiro was twitchy with excitement. He should have been more embarrassed by it; he probably would be when he looked back at this, but in the moment, all that mattered was Keith. All that mattered was how close Keith was. It was silly. So much had changed in what suddenly felt like so little time. Shiro wasn’t the same person he used to be, and he was glad that he wasn’t, and Keith looked even better than he did in his dreams.

He filled out Shiro’s jacket better than he used to, wiry muscle given a stronger base. He seemed calmer somehow, more centered. Shiro saw it in the way he carried himself. The cagey look he used to have was gone, as was the urge to look over his shoulder every few seconds. Keith carried himself with a new strength. Even if he’d almost been mauled by a pack of enthusiastic pillows.

Keith bit his lip, trying to find the right words, but nothing seemed to fit. “How have you been?” He asked, annoyed with himself for stumbling. This used to be so easy, people used to throw themselves at him for attention and all he had to do was pick which one he wanted to use that night. There’d been no strings, no emotions, no embarrassing attack of angry lapdogs.

“Good. Better.” Those two words meant so much to Shiro, a hard won victory. “I’ve been sober 11 months, 19 days and counting. It’s a…it feels good. I’m almost to one year.”

“That’s great! I mean, congrats.” It was awkward and uncomfortable again.

Keith swallowed a sigh, wondering if they should just stick to the small talk and drift away. A gulf had opened up between them, what they had was in a past neither one of them wanted to go back to, even if it meant leaving some of the best times behind. He couldn’t walk away like this though, not after so long. They’d moved on, but he’d never forgotten and there was a part of him that could never really let go. Slowly, Keith reached for his jacket and pulled out a worn, faded patch. A pair of embroidered sunglasses. Shiro’s eyes widened as Keith held it out, taking it gently from Keith’s hand.

“I’ve been holding on to this. I didn’t mean to take it, I found it the night that-, you know. It had come off, I was planning on fixing it for you.” Keith trailed off, his silence filling in the rest. _But we never had the chance_. “I should have given it back, but I didn’t know where to find you and I knew you didn’t want me to look, so I just kept it.” His voice gentled, a small and fragile smile across his lips. It was a surprisingly vulnerability, Shiro wasn’t used to Keith sharing so much.

“Thanks.” Shiro said gently, running his thumb over the familiar design. “I thought I lost it, I lost a lot that night. I wasn’t expecting to see it again.”

“I want you to know that it helped. I’ve been trying to get my life together, I screwed up and I never got a change to apologize. Not really. I didn’t like the kind of person I was, so started looking for some real help and it’s, I’m doing better. Working on it.” He looked up at Shiro as if afraid the other man would pounce on his weakness, but there was nothing but kindness in those dark eyes. How could there ever be anything else? “It always kind of reminded me that I wasn’t going through things alone.”

There was a weight in Keith’s words that struck Shiro silent. He averted his gaze, eyes glassy with tears that he wouldn’t let fall but didn’t mean any less. It happened so quickly, he wasn’t even sure how he felt. He might have missed Keith. He might have spent far too long thinking about what could have been, but at the end of the day, he didn’t regret breaking it off when they did. Still. They deserved better. They deserved so much more than the hands they were dealt.

“When I was with you,” Shiro started, and his voice was gravel rough. The weight of the past settled over their shoulders, but there was something comforting about it this time. The wounds may not have healed completely, but on most days, the scars no longer ached. “I was happy. I just wish we hadn’t been so good at hurting one another.”

Keith sucked in his teeth, scrubbed a hand over his face, and Shiro was struck with nostalgia, taken back to the start of a race, where all that mattered was finding the man he’d fallen in love with in the face of a stranger. Shiro saw him now, still so brave, still so passionate, and it would be too easy to convince himself that no time had passed at all. But they deserved better than that, too.

“Do you ever regret it?” Keith asked, but he smiled like he already knew the answer.

“Sometimes.” It was a confession that hurt more than either of them was ready for, and Keith looked away this time, letting out a shaky exhale. “But I don’t regret meeting you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro saw the waitress approaching with their orders. Keith’s expression crumbled as he noticed her too, but he reached across the table, fingers grazing the back of Shiro’s hand. When Shiro opened up to him, he squeezed it.

“It was good to see you again,” he said, and he meant every word. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Keith got up to leave, reaching for his wallet, and even that took more strength than he thought he had left. It hadn’t been easy, but in a way he was happy that they had this chance. One final day to close the chapter of what could have been. Shiro just wasn’t ready to let him go.

“Keith wait!”

Before he could second-guess himself, Shiro was pressing a small brass coin into Keith’s palm, and he held on with both hands. Keith could feel the rough fabric of his patch against his skin. “Take it, please? They always meant starting over to me. Starting over and second chances.”

Keith held out the coin, the “11 Months” stamped prominently on both sides. A symbol of how far Shiro had come and the battle with his own demons. “Are you sure you want to give this to me?”

“If I do, then it’s all the more reason to make it to twelve so I can replace it, right?”

“You can make it, I know you can.” Keith’s voice went hoarse before he blurted out the question that had been dancing between them. “Do you think we might get a second chance, Shiro?” Hope held Keith’s heart hostage, breath hitching as he curled his hand around to coin to keep from reaching out to him. When Shiro didn’t answer immediately, he managed a watery smile and stammered an excuse. “Never mind, I know. I’m just glad we got a chance to talk.”

“Keith.” Whenever Shiro said his name like that, sad and careful, it felt like a gift and Keith closed his eyes to try and capture the sound of it. “We can’t pick up where we left off. I’m not the same person I was, I _can’t_ be that person again. I’ve worked really hard to change and it looks like you did too. What we had…I don’t know how it would work with who we are now.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. Forget it, I was just messing around.” Keith scrambled to leave before he fell apart, pulling away and running. He was always running, damn it! It had no right to hurt so much, the rejection cut just as deep a year later as it had that first night. Shiro’s hand closed around his own, holding him still and Keith’s entire body tensed, unable to turn and face him but unable to just pull away.  

“We can’t be who we were, but maybe I could get to know the new you? Start at the beginning.”

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice wavered, finally turning to look at his old friend and searching his face like this might not be real. Like he could lose it all again.

“Let me take you to coffee.” Shiro offered, carefully twining their fingers together, and Keith held on like he was looking for a lifeline. “And this time, we can start with you giving me your number?”

It was a risk Shiro wasn’t sure he was ready to take, but the rewards were more than he could imagine. It felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, his feet inches off the ground and a thousand mile drop spread out before him. All he had to get him through was a thread of hope, but it was tougher and more resilient than anything he knew, just like Keith. They’d torn each other apart trying to fight their own demons, but this time, they had a chance to do things differently. They had a chance to do things right.

It could all go wrong, but that risk followed at his heels every time he took a step forward in every day without a drink, every day he faced himself in the mirror, every day he chose to live. He’d accepted he could fail, but he’d learned to tried anyways. He never stopped trying. 

_I loved you once, let me love you again._

And when Keith laughed, Shiro felt like he was flying.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans on tumblr [here](http://itdans.tumblr.com/)  
> Rune's tumblr is [ here](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com) and twitter is [Here](https://twitter.com/Runicscribbles)
> 
> Come say hello. :)


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